'Damn Mayer, that lazy bastard! Damn him and those Blackwing cronies!'
The flash of anger that ran through Bernard's body every time he had that thought was the only thing that provided him any warmth as he trudged along the Longswordian countryside. Neither his thick wool uniform and gloves nor his leather boots seemed to do much against the cold, but they kept him from freezing… so far. But nothing could stop the ache in his bones or the soreness in his paws or the tears that appeared in his eyes whenever the wind blew in his face. Another miserably cold night for another miserable border patrol.
But tonight wasn't just any night. No, he could handle these lousy treks between border outposts through the dark forests, where the ground was frozen solid and partisans could bushwack him any second, just about any other night. But tonight was the Blue Moon Festival of all nights! The one time of year he got to leave the garrison at Haarsingen and return to his home in Panacea and eat a warm, hearty supper with his family. And that had been the plan…
Bernard gritted his beak as he remembered why he was even here: Mayer, that little sneaky rat. He'd drawn the short straw, he was the one who was supposed to be out here freezing his tail feathers off! Anygriff else in the barracks would've accepted that, but not that lazy sneak. He had friends with the local Reformisten, who'd done something to get him off duty. Not only that, but being the vindictive bastard he was, he'd somehow managed to get Bernard specifically to take his place, probably still upset about his sly claws being discovered during a card game last month. Bernard tried to not be a hateful soul, especially around the Festival, but he found it impossible to not feel that way right about now, as exhausted and tired and hungry as he was.
Distracted by increasingly creative and deadly methods he could use to get back at that spoiled brat when this was over, Bernard nearly tripped over the knotted root of a tree which the snow on the ground so conveniently covered. Letting out a sharp gasp, he tilted forward, throwing out his wings and grabbing onto the tree to regain his balance, which he managed to do. Scowling, he stepped over the root and stared at the tree that had almost tripped him, building up to let out a flurry of insults. However, it died in his throat and just turned into a sigh as he let go of the inanimate wood and kept walking.
'Maybe it's true," he thought to himself, adjusting the collar of his jacket, shivering as a gust of wind was allowed in. "maybe the forests really do hate us as much as the ponies do."
He let out a dry chuckle, remembering all the silly rumors that got passed around the barracks from time to time. Tales of patrols disappearing without a trace or of lone griffons being found tangled out in the limbs of trees or of swamps that appear and disappear to swallow up whole companies. Normally, he laughed all of those stories off, far more concerned about a Jezergradian raid or invasion, but being alone in the very woods at night suddenly made them much less funny…
Hoping to get ahead of his own anxiety, Bernard stopped in front of a little thicket of trees that provided some shelter from the wind, leaning against one of them. He rubbed his gloved claws together then across his face, trying to bring some warmth back to it and drive away the cold settling in his beak. Wrapping his wings around himself, Bernard slowly closed his eyes and sighed, one claw rubbing at his brow and the other digging around in his pockets for his lighter. Oh how he wanted to fall asleep right then and there. Let Maar and the Jezegradians take the Count and all his bastard Reformisten. That's what they got for making him be out here.
"Fucking Mayer…" Bernard grumbled, grasping the cold metal of his lighter in his claws, letting out another sigh as he opened his eyes.
He flicked the lighter, producing a feeble little flame that flickered in the wind, but remained burning nonetheless, giving everything an eerie sort of shadow that spooked him for a moment. Satisfied, he switched the lighter into his other claw and reached into his jacket, pulling out the little cigarette case which sat right over his heart. He opened the case and leaned his head down, gingerly grasping one of his few remaining cigarettes in his beak before returning the case to its place. It took more attempts to produce the flame from his lighter this time, but he managed to light the tobacco stick regardless. His mother would have admonished him if she were here right now. But, she wasn't, so he was shameless.
Taking a deep inhale, glad that the warm smoke warmed him from the inside out, Bernard took a quick look around his surroundings. Despite the thicket of trees he'd taken shelter in, most of the forest was clear, with much of the brush and bush that normally made navigating so difficult having retreated for the season. While still very much wild and dark, the full moon above and the clearer visibility helped to take away some of the mystery and danger. That being said, the shadows cast by his lighter earlier certainly hadn't helped his nerves, and something was constantly nagging at the back of his mind to be more on alert. Maybe it was just the fact that no matter how annoyed he was, he was still on patrol. Or, maybe something unseen really was just unsettling him. Whatever the case, he narrowed his eyes and guarded them from the wind with a claw, taking a slow lay of the land around him.
That was when he saw it. Somewhere off in the distance in the direction he'd been heading in was a faint light, piercing through the darkness to be just barely visible. Bernard immediately perked up, excitedly thinking that maybe he was reaching another border post, where he could kick up and maybe get some warm slop in his belly. It didn't even cross his mind until he'd already walked several dozen feet that it could be anything but the post. Even when it did, he quickly dismissed it. No one, not even those damned Jezegradians, would be out in this kind of weather, right? At worst, it was some smuggler meeting up for a trade, and he could easily ignore that. His cigarettes and the case that carried them weren't even Griffon made after all. He just really, really needed a damn rest before he did something stupid or drastic or both.
Snubbing his cigarette and using the unflinching light serving as his guiding star, Bernard moved quickly, becoming more and more hopeful as the light grew closer and closer, picturing a roaring fireplace with a plate of warm beef waiting for him, prepared for him by a beautiful hen who wasn't afraid to get a little close. The reality was of course going to be nothing of the sort, but he needed a good reason to keep going. So when the light suddenly disappeared, it brought him to a screeching halt, almost falling over himself in surprise as the loss of his beacon. For a split moment, his mind once again turned to the tall tales he'd heard, of lights that would appear to draw in hapless travelers. Ghosts or spirits of some kind that sought vengeance or sacrifice or any manner of terrible thing from their victims. With a shiver running down his spine, he reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder, unsure of the protection it would provide him against the ungodly thing that had deceived him…
Then, just as he was preparing to raise his weapon, the light reappeared in a different spot, off more to his left, slowly moving between the trees. The relief was almost instantly. It wasn't something out here with him, but someone. And as quickly as the relief had come from his revelation, it was washed away. Someone was out here with him, and it was his job to know who and why.
"Boreas damn it…" He mumbled, quickly making the Sign of the Three across his body, tracing a triangle with his claw over his chest. "Father, Mother, Warrior…"
He didn't bother to finish the prayer as he quickly dropped down into a more predatory stance and began to follow the moving light, trying to move as swiftly yet as silently as his paws would let him. Suddenly, all his aches and pains were gone, replaced by sheer focus and overcome by willpower. Despite his earlier complaints, if this truly was something dangerous, he had to know in order to warn others as quickly as possible. Though, it did strike him as odd that the light was moving east, not west. And moving pretty slowly at that, enough for him to easily make up the distance, if he was quick enough. Whatever the case, he was still a soldier and this was his duty.
Bernard took care to make as little noise as possible and to maintain a respectable distance from the light and whoever carried it. Whoever he was following however didn't do the same, the sound of snapping sticks and rustling leaves carrying over the quiet forest, more than enough to have followed them even without the beacon of light. It didn't take him long to find a trail either, left behind in the thin powdery snow that covered the ground which he started to follow. He inspected it as he followed it, his heart almost freezing in his chest when he managed to count several sets of steps in the snow, clearly made by hooves. The steps were too messy to try and get an accurate count of just how many there were, though they didn't seem purposefully covered up, just made by creatures walking closely together. That only allowed his mind to conjure out an entire group of bloodthirsty partisans and suddenly made him reconsider the idea of following them, his steps growing slower and more cautious as he considered turning around and simply making a report on it later.
Then it hit him: this was his chance for perfect revenge. Revenge that didn't even require laying a claw on Mayer and risking consequences. A lone griff, single-clawedly following a group of ponies and discovering a meeting place of the partisans, somewhere where no doubt weapons or supplies were being smuggled in. If he could find exactly where and report it, they'd give him a medal for this! His commanders would praise him, the Blackwings would respect him and he'd earn a good reputation. He, instead of that lazy bastard, would earn all the glory from this. Maybe he could even leverage it to get some extra leave and make up for missing the festival with his family. Yes, this was his moment. With that plan now in mind, his cautious steps returned to confident strides, boldly getting closer to the light than before, not risking his chance of being able to rub something in the twerps face.
As he tracked the ponies, he managed to catch quick glimpses of the group, though he always remained too far behind to get a good look. Silhouettes and shadows made him think there were maybe three or four, with one holding the lantern and the rest trailing behind. He also started to suspect there was a griffon among them, given that one seemed to be larger than the rest. The only thing better than catching a partisan would be catching a traitor, something that only made this plan more appealing. Besides, the idea of somegriff working with the ponies disgusted him. Sure, he didn't hate ponies and he'd never liked the stories he heard out of the south, but how could you betray your country, your very own kind, in service to ponies? Ponies who were far from innocent from spilling blood themselves nonetheless! Whatever, it wouldn't matter soon. They'd be caught and executed soon enough, or at the very least forced to find an even more remote trail to use for their damned terrorism. And it would all be thanks to him!
Getting deeper and deeper into the forest, it started to become harder to navigate, less and less moonlight making it through the canopy with more trees and branches blocking the way. Several times, he lost track of the light and even the trail, but managed to find it every time. With the progress the group was making, they weren't taking the change in terrain very well either, something that made the growing pains and aches and the chill settling snugly in his bones a bit more bearable. Bernard reminded himself of the warriors who'd accompanied Grover II east and of their great struggles, and of his ancestors who'd worked to tame the wild lands. Just a little further. They couldn't be much further, surely? At the least, the ponies had to take a break soon.
Almost as soon as thought struck him, there was a sudden sharp yelp followed by a series of quick thuds, then a loud pained moan. With his heart nearly leaping out of his chest, Bernard instinctively jumped behind a tree, listening as multiple voices called out and hoofsteps pounded across the ground, the light dipping downward then disappearing. Once things became quiet aside from his thumping heart and the barely audible voices ahead of him, Bernard crept out from his hiding place, slowly approaching where the noises were coming from. He noticed that the ground began to dip, first slowly and then quickly into what seemed to be a sharp gully, the group of partisans hidden from sight at the bottom. Something had probably tripped one of them, catching them off guard and sending them tumbling down the slope. A quick but potentially nasty fall.
Crawling behind a stump not far from the edge, he listened to what the group was saying as they no doubt tended to whoever had fallen, breathing as quietly as he could. Though they were trying to speak softly, the partisan voices were now clear and he could make out at least five distinct voices. They all spoke urgently and in the local pony tongue, a language he had very little knowledge of; but he managed to pick out that one of them was speaking in a much less elegant way, like they had only a rudimentary understanding, which he figured was likely the griffon he'd suspected earlier. Another voice, quieter and higher pitched than the others, made his heart pinch, as he realized there was very likely a child with them. Heartless bastards, how could they drag one of their own young out here? He tried to not think about it too much as he debated on what to do now.
One part of him wanted to just let them continue on their way and finish his self-important mission. Another part worried they might just abandon the idea if one of their own was too hurt, turning back on their trail, meaning he should start moving now to get a head start. And another part of him… another part called for action. He had not only the element of surprise but also the high ground. Sure, he was outnumbered, but one was hurt and they were all distracted. If he could just take one of them alive, preferably the traitor or the young one, that would be even better than finding their meeting spot. If they were smart, they'd scramble and he could hunt one down. If they slow, he could probably drop most of them quick enough. If they were smart, they'd just surrender themselves anyway.
After another quick moment of hesitation, listening to the voices he still couldn't hope to understand, Bernard reached down to his belt and slowly pulled his bayonet from its sheath, affixing it to the end of his rifle while careful to make as little noise as possible. Cautiously, he stood up and approached the edge of the gully, taking a deep breath with every slow step. He felt like a chick hunting field mice on the prairie again, only much more dangerous this time.
"Boreas preserve me, Arcturus see me!"
Building up a cry in his throat, he jumped the last foot to the edge of the embankment, swinging his rifle barrel down, ready to finally meet his enemy!
"Stop! Surrender or-"
His words immediately died on his tongue as all the blood in his body went cold. What greeted him was indeed a group of ponies and a traitor, standing around one of their one who was propped up against a rock, one of their legs looking badly twisted, just as he'd expected. But his eyes nearly bulged from his head as they processed the finer details of the scene before him.
A mare stood with a shivering filly, no more than twelve or thirteen, pressed against her side underneath a familiar gray winter jacket, both looking up at him with terror-filled expressions. In front of them stood a teenaged pony, barely a stallion if Bernard had to guess, his front hooves dug into the ground and body turned defensively, eyes glaring with hate but wide with fear. On the ground lay an older stallion who looked bruised and dirty, his left hind leg twisted, face stoic but who's eyes betrayed his pain. And next to the injured pony knelt a griffon who wore the same uniform Bernard, the lantern that had given them away on the ground beside them, their eyes wide of disbelief and bewilderment
They all stared up at him wordlessly, their expressions unchanging, almost like they were trying to see if he'd leave if they didn't move. All he could do was stare back, blinking back tears from a sudden gust of freezing wind that attacked his face, unsure of what to do now.
'It's a family. By the Gods, it's a family.'
That was all he could think as the awkward staring contest dragged on, his eyes gliding over each mortified face that looked up at him. His gaze slowly settled on the griffon, the traitor, as that felt the most familiar. The most safe. And as he looked them over, staring into those beady little eyes which sat above an off-color slightly crooked beak, he came to a startling realization: He knew this Griff. And by the look of their face, they knew him too.
"M-M… M-Mayer?" He croaked out quietly, surprised that that name of all things was rolling off his tongue.
Bernard watched as Mayer slowly stood up and turned to face him, both looking the other up and down, as if they needed to confirm one more time what they were seeing.
"Bernard…" Mayer said with a nod of his head. "I was not… expecting to see you tonight."
Bernard nodded in turn, wordless, brow scrunching in confusion. Mayer turned to look at the ponies, who were still seemingly frozen solid, and Bernard followed his gaze.
"I'm… sorry, that you're out in this mess. But, as you can see I had… important business." Mayer said, motioning with a claw towards the ponies. "I suppose now's better than never to wish you a happy Blue Moon Festival."
Something about the way they said that, maybe how casual and calm it was, made Bernard's beak twitch, his claws tightening on his rifle, which he swung to be pointed right at Mayers chest. Mayer flinched but remained calm as he took a few slow steps to his left, placing himself between Bernard and the ponies.
"You… traitorous bastard, you have the balls to taunt me?" Bernard asked through a gritted beak, one of his talons idly tapping against the side of his rifle.
"I apologize, I didn't mean for it to sound like that." Mayer said slowly, raising one claw in surrender. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't expect anyone to find us. I thought for certain the patrols would miss us…"
Mayers head lowered to the ground, his voice growing frustrated.
"This was supposed to go to plan. I thought for sure I could do this…"
"Do what you miserable rat?!" Bernard demanded, thrusting his rifle forward slightly as a sign of intimidation.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Clearly not." Bernard spat back, his head starting to become light for some reason.
Mayer remained quiet for a moment, before looking up at him, a glint of terror in his eyes.
"Are there any more with you?" Mayer asked quietly, glancing over at the ponies who had silently shuffled closer to one another.
Bernard's face hardened as he thought of how to respond. Mayer didn't seem armed, but if he was a traitor, no telling what he might try to do. But something about the way the griff spoke evoked some deep well of empathy within him, urging him to speak truthfully.
"... No one." He slowly admittedly, briefly looking over his shoulders, wishing for reinforcements to suddenly appear.
Bernard watched as the look of horror in Mayers eyes slowly turned to one of hope, something which almost caused him to pull the trigger right then and there.
"Thank the Gods! Then you may just listen to reason!" Mayer rejoiced, taking a step towards Bernard, who in turn took a step backwards despite being elevated above the griff.
"What reason is there!? You are a traitor! What are you doing with these ponies anyway? Taking them to some, hidden partisan camp?! Or better yet, are you leading them to some Blackwing hole so you can… do whatever you and those fucking creeps do."
Mayers beak turned sharply in disgust, before he vigorously shook his head.
"No, no! Nothing of the sort! I am just leading them to the border, so that they can escape! I-I thought no one would see us if we took this route. But I think the Gods still have mercy, for if anyone was to find me, I would have it be you."
"What are you implying?!" Bernard shouted, causing both Mayer and the ponies to flinch back "That I would be some traitor like you? What love of ponies do you have anyway?! And what are they 'escaping' from?! If they want to leave, then they can leave!"
"I am implying that you are a griff of reason! A griff of honor and of good heart!" Mayer shouted back, clasping his claws together in front of himself as if to beg. "These creatures, they are sick and weary. Hurt and freezing. Please, put down your weapon and just… listen to me. I-I beg you Bernard. I know you think I am a lie and a cheat, but I am just trying to do some good."
Bernard opened his beak to speak again, but was interrupted by a sudden shrill cry that pierced the forest like a banshee's cry. Both griffons turned towards the source of the noise, watching as the terrified mare lifted the coat from her back, placing it upon her daughter and lifting a small bundle of cloth that sat snugly on her back. She sat and held it in her hooves, whispering softly and trying to fight tears that were obviously brewing in her eyes. As he watched, Bernard's grip on his rifle slowly loosened, until it barely remained in his claws, the barrel now pointed to the ground. He turned his gaze back towards Mayer, who's pleading eyes and beggar's claws suddenly meant so much more to him.
"... Fine. Fine you… You Gods damned miserable son-of-a-bitch. Explain yourself, and make it quick."
"Thank you." Mayer said, sounding exasperated. "These ponies, they come from the south. Their village was burned down. Destroyed. It and everyone in it marked for… for extermination."
The last sentence trembled on Mayers lips but hung in the air, Bernard's mind taking a moment to process it. His beak opened and shut a few times before words finally came out.
"B-Bullshit! Bullshit, we don't just burn down villages and kill ponies for no reason! These must be criminals! Are you escorting criminals, Mayer?!"
"Yes, but do you want to know their crime?" Mayer said, voice growing cold. "One pony. One pony from their village was found to be a partisan. That's all it took, Bernard. One. Pony. And now they, all of them, are dead creatures walking as long as they remain here!"
Bernard sputtered for a moment, trying to think of a response for such a story. Surely, he was lying! Or exaggerating. But that gleam in his eyes that Mayer had when he lied, the one that got him caught as a card cheat, was nowhere to be seen.
"T-That can't be true. That's not what they do! T-They send some of them work camps sure but-"
"Those camps are death sentences! I've seen them damn it!" Mayer yelled, his voice echoing off the trees. "It doesn't matter, young or old, mare or stallion, they don't care. T-They keep it quiet for the most part, keep the military and the knights away from it, but they're butchers down there. You've heard the rumors, no doubt. About the terrible things. We've all heard them! I know you have!"
"B-But, they are just rumors! Propaganda and lies and foolishness spread by partisans and discontents and stupid bored soldiers! S-Surely they can't all be real!"
"Not all. But enough, Bernard. Enough of them are."
The two were quiet again for a moment, only the sobbing cries of the newborn foal who just couldn't seem to be comforted by their mother taking up the empty space. Bernard took a deep breath and shut his eyes, trying to process everything. It didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. How could they keep something like that quiet? Everyone knew the Reformistens goal was to drive the ponies out, but never so brazenly as to what Mayer was claiming. But then again, hadn't he known? If the rumors were true, even just some of them, then, how ignorant really was he?
"H-How do you even know this? A-And why do you care? Aren't you in good with those damned Blackwings?"
"I… I tolerate and ingratiate myself to those pigs as much as I need for them to trust me. They are… helpful for my part in what I do." Mayer said, his break clenched tightly, as if furious to admit it. "As for how… my brother. He told me. He was an officer, stationed in the south. He took part in some of their 'operations' before he supposedly went 'missing' during a partisan attack. I think though, given how he sounded in his letters that he wrote me, that he hated it. And for that, they silenced him. And then, when I went south to try and find him, I saw some of it first claw. They use only their most loyal and their most brutal for their real dirty work, but it's hard not to notice if you're looking. And if you care, it's hard to not be disgusted by it."
Mayer stopped to take a quick breath, looking up at the tree canopy above, as if trying to see something beyond it.
"And enough care to try and get ponies to safety. These ones were chosen because of their… unfortunate position and their newborn foal. They've been smuggled north and I was supposed to guide them on the last leg of their journey."
"If you'd been more cautious, then I wouldn't even be hearing all this." Bernard said lamely, the chill now settled down into his bones, dread filling up his stomach. "... Did you have me on duty in case someone did see you?"
Mayers eyes squinted in confusion and he shook his head.
"No. I didn't have anyone 'chosen' to take my place, I just got myself out of it. It must have just been rotten luck on your part… But I am glad it was you, like I said before. The Gods must be blessing me."
"What makes you say that…?"
"I see the way you look at the Blackwings. The way you look like you're sucking cotton anytime someone praises them. The way you look at me. You have no love for them and their policies."
"I always have no love of ponies either."
"You don't need to. You love Longsword, that much is enough. And you are not a cruel griff. I hope, I know, that you will see reason. I know that you'll let us go."
Bernard was silent, brow furrowed and beak scrunched up. Where did this confidence of Mayer come from? What made him think all this? As if sensing Bernard's doubt, Mayer stood tall and looked him right in the eyes, letting out a quiet sigh.
"I don't care if you turn me in later. I will suffer every consequence that comes with that. I will stand trial and torment and I will face my death like a griffon." Mayer said, taking in a sharp inhale. "But I beg of you, and ask you to let the Gods guide your heart: let me deliver them to safety. Please. That is all I ask of you."
Bernard stood there quietly for what to him felt like an eternity, the question tossing around his head like a ship in a storm. To not stop them was to betray his orders, and to betray his country. Mayer was a liar, a cheat, a rat, a shirker and a lay-about. All he was giving was his word, which was worth as much as a cow-patty to anyone with good sense. But everything he said… It made too much sense. Too much sense given what he'd heard, what'd been whispered about and rumor-milled. He didn't like the Reformisten. He thought they were idiots and thugs and lazy and cowards. But could he really just let a group of ponies, ponies who could easily be criminals and partisans, killers and thieves, potential recruits for the rebels. Could he let them just… walk away?
Looking up, seeing a sliver of pale blue moonlight managing to break through the trees, his answer seemed obvious, like a lighthouse guiding him to shore. Without a word, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and turned away, walking back the way he'd come, Mayer sighing in relief as he did so. He walked a couple dozen feet, his mind completely blank, still reeling and trying to make sense of it all. Suddenly though, something made him turn right back around and go back to that fool and his ponies. They all stared at him again when he reappeared, their expressions turning confused as he climbed down and knelt on the other side of the injured stallion.
"You'll have to carry him, you know. He can't walk on something like that." Bernard said, looking over at Mayer, who seemed to still be trying to process his sudden return.
"I know. I'm just trying to think of how to get him out without hurting his leg more."
"We'll fly him out. You hold one side, I'll hold the other. Best if we support the leg first."
Bernard turned to the teenaged stallion, a unicorn with a tealish sort of coat like his mother and a brownish-redish mane like his father, pointing a talon at the lad.
"Stick." He commanded, the young stallion looking at him credulously.
Mayer spoke up, speaking in the pony tongue in a sort of blocky staccato way, his proficiency far from mastery. But whatever he said, the teenager's eyes softened and they nodded, giving a one word response before climbing out of the gully. Without him to guard them, the mother scooted back, staring at Bernard as she continued to try and comfort her newborn, who was now finally growing quiet.The filly at her side looked at him curiously from underneath Mayers jacket, poking her head out just enough to see him. Feeling awkward by being watched, he gently waved at the young pony, who let out a quiet 'eep' and ducked back deeper into the coat. Bernard couldn't help but smile at that, turning back to the father who was having a quiet conversation with Mayer, remaining quiet as he inspected the injured limb closer. Given enough rest, it would heal quickly.
A few minutes later, the son returned, a few good sized sticks in his mouth which he deposited next to Bernard. With a nod, Bernard took some of the sticks and looked down at the limb, letting out a quick sigh as he realized what he had to do. Mayer was lucky to not be freezing without his coat on, and the ponies weren't much better, their clothes ragged and torn from their no-doubt difficult journey. So, he reached down and grabbed a part of his coat, using his claws to cut and rip away a sizable portion. Enough to wrap around and tie the sticks tightly to the limb enough for it to not jostle and move too much. Mayer looked at him and smiled, resting a claw on Bernard's shoulder.
"Thank you. Thank you for so much, Bernard."
"Forget it. Come, I'll carry his front, you carry his rear." Bernard said dismissively, standing up and walking into position, trying not to shiver as the cold breached the gap in his clothing.
Once both griffs were in place, their claws gripped gently on the ponies shoulders and hips, they flapped their wings in unison, lifting off the ground. While the pony moaned as he was moved, squirming a bit at the unfamiliar feeling of being off the ground, they managed to move him out of the gully and back onto the ground gently enough. His family followed, gathering around the father, where they shared some words, the father hugging his daughter and newborn close to him as they did so. Bernard watched from a few feet away, noticing that the lantern was still down in the gully. He stepped carefully back down into it and hoisted it up, met with Mayer standing over him, looking down with a tired but cheery smile on his beak.
"The mother says thank you. The father gives his gratitude. And the little filly says thank you for helping her papa. They all thank you for letting them go."
"They… are welcome." Bernard said slowly, lifting the lantern up for Mayer to take. "It's not… It's not my job to stop ponies from leaving if they want. I'm here to stop smugglers and partisans and raiders. Not… Not little foals and their mothers."
"Whatever you must say to make this rest easy in your heart, Bernard."
Mayer grabbed the lantern and held it aloft, still looking down.
"You know, I think you could be one of those griffons that are disgusted. One of those griffons that help more like this."
Bernard waved his claw dismissively, his look intensifying as he looked Mayer right in the eye.
"I won't betray Longsword any more than I have tonight. This will not happen again. Not for you or anyone else."
"I think you would be surprised as to who apart of this network-"
"Mayer. Shut up." He said harshly, accenting his demand with a flare of his wings. "Just, shut up. For my sake, and for yours. Call this a Blue Moon Miracle and be done with it."
He paused, looking down at his damaged coat before letting out a frustrated sigh. He quickly unbuttoned it and took it off, the freezing air hitting him harder than ever before as he rooted around, grabbing what belongings he kept inside it. Mayer watched him curiously, managing to catch the coat when it was thrown up at him.
"And consider that your Festival Gift. Can't say I never gave you anything."
"Thank you." Mayer said, throwing the coat over his shoulder, nodding gratefully. "You are doing the right thing, I promise. May the Gods watch over you Bernard. I know it was them who warmed your heart."
"Well, they certainly aren't warming my tail feathers." Bernard said, wrapping his wings around himself again, his beak slightly chittering. "Go. Before your bleeding heart and smug face changes my mind."
Mayer nodded one more time and quickly turned around, returning to the family. With the help of the mother and the son, they managed to load the father onto Mayers back, Bernard's coat thrown over him. Bernard watched for a while as they walked away, watching until all he could see was that same light he'd been following earlier. Eventually, even that was too far away to see, and he realized he'd been standing around like an idiot for far too long. If he wasn't careful, he was going to freeze. Sighing again, he opened the cigarette case in his claws and lit one, taking a deep deep inhale before he turned his gaze west. It was a long walk back, and it was going to be hard to explain why he was missing his coat… But he didn't regret his choices. Not for a second.
Climbing out the gully, he began his journey back, finding that his step was lighter and easier than before, the aches and pains suddenly gone. He wasn't what caused that, Maar, maybe he was dying from cold, but it certainly made it all a lot more bearable. His gaze remained fixed to the sky, watching the rays of moonlight that would find their way through, feeling warmed whenever he entered the pale blue light. Someone somewhere was judging him, and he could only hope they were doing it fairly.
'Damn those Blackwing bastards. And damn that bleeding heart Mayer…'
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The Blue Moon of 1006 was proving to be the last moment of calm in Longsword, with the new year ushering in a bloody new dawn.
That fool Count had finally gone and done it. Intensifying his efforts to 'remove' the ponies and every trace of their culture, unleashing the Reformisten and allowing their base cruelty and incompetence to show at every possible place. Of course the ponies had started to fight back harder than ever. What group of creatures wouldn't resist the effort to completely eliminate them? Taking direct part in this mad plan had made Bernard's stomach queasy, only adding to the doubt and uncertainty he'd felt since that night in the woods. He couldn't, he wouldn't, allow himself to be used as a blunt object like that.
Thankfully, just before things began to truly break down, he'd been transferred from Haarsingen to Zeltstadt instead of being sent south with the rest of his unit when the pony unrest began. The reason as to why his sudden transfer occurred was never quite clear to him, though the suspicious desertion of Mayer not long before gave him an inkling of an idea. Regardless, whether an act of trickery or divinity, he arrived in Zeltstadt, surprised to find the city was being turned into a literal fortress of resistance, the winding streets and alleyways turned into kill-zones and ambushes. Even his own village, sitting along the banks of the River Rom, had been reinforced with trenches and rudimentary bunkers and other things he'd never expected to see there. It all confused him, until he learned just how many others shared his sentiments and were ready to do something about it.
He never quite got all the details and juicy bits. Between the vigilante justice and the arms smuggling and the assassinations, he didn't want to know all of it. But what he did know is that the Rosewood Knights and large parts of the military were going to take an open stand against the Count and the Reformisten. Even though joining this conspiracy no doubt made him the sort of traitor he never wished to be, he could not abandon the knights he so admired, nor General Silvertalon, the leader of the rebelling military, who he so respected. Besides, the idea of fighting actually calmed his heart compared to the thought of running to Hellquill or Katerin. No, he would fight and die for Longsword, if so required.
From the beginning, it was all a mess. The radical Blackwings on one side, the determined partisans on the other. Any attempt at an alliance or truce between the resistance and the ponies faltered, neither side willing to trust the other. But still, the resistance held their barricades at Kupiskis in the south, fending off the ponies while crossing the River Rom in the north to begin their march on Swordsson. The fanatic Blackwings fought every step of the way, resorting to tactics that made the most battle-hardened griff's stomachs turn. But their cruel fanaticism was no match for the righteous fury unleashed upon them and the fighting soon came right to the Counts door. Unfortunately, the cowardly son-of-a-bitch shot himself dead just before he could be apprehended, saving him from true justice but not from dutiful retribution.
With their leader's body skewered on the bayonets of his once loyal soldiers, the Reformisten fell apart quickly, leaving only two factions in the struggle for Longsword. For a short time, there was a lull in the fighting, as both sides once again attempted to negotiate a peaceful settlement, neither as hateful or brutal towards each other as they'd been to the Blackwings. But with their visions for the future of the country so different, diplomacy soon failed and force of arms became the only way forward. It brought some ache to Bernard's heart to have to fight against the very creatures that he and his comrades were, ostensibly, trying to help. But that didn't make him falter when he and the rest of the resisting army began to march south to capture Visaginas, the de-facto capital of the partisans.
Initially, they found good success, pushing back the under-equipped and under-trained partisans, the civil war looking like it might just end more swiftly than anyone expected. However, as supplies and volunteers crossed the border from the Riverlands, resistance quickly stiffened. The fighting turned slow and grueling, especially in the east where he was stationed. Ironically, he found himself in the same woods around Haarsingen he'd been patrolling just a few short months earlier, the ponies able to use the terrain to their advantage. He'd always expected to one day very likely die in those woods to partisans, though he would have never guessed the wider circumstances surrounding it.
The night was dark and everygriff was exhausted after a long march. Maybe it was carelessness or luck, or maybe the ponies really had just bested them, but the ambush had struck hard and fast. Everything was turmoil as bullets began to rain on the camp they hadn't even finished yet. All Bernard could do was shout and scream to be heard over the gunfire, managing to piece together his squad and a few others, taking up a position in a ditch with a machine gun, trying to form the backbone of a defensive line. However, he could only curse and swear as the reservist and greener volunteers began to falter, turning to run in the opposite direction of the unseen attackers. While a few other squads managed to put up a fight, the moving muzzle flashes made it clear that those left fighting were beginning to be surrounded. Seeing those to the left and right of his squad begin to retreat, Bernard gave the order for those under his command to do the same, with himself acting as the rearguard. One by one, his position emptied, until only he and one soldier were left, both working to quickly load one more belt into the machine gun as the ponies began to encroach.
"Sergeant!" The young soldier next to him cried, her claws quivering and fumbling as she moved the heavy belt into place. "W-We must go! Now!"
"You must go." Bernard replied calmly, slamming the cover down and pulling back the charging handle. "I will spray these bastards with every last bullet we have, then follow you."
That gaunt, horrified look on her face told him she didn't want to leave him. Yet the terror and shame in her eyes told him she would. Giving a firm part on the hen's shoulder, both a signal to move and as an encouragement, Bernard took his position behind the gun and began to fire. He held down the trigger, sweeping the gun back and forth, wood cracking and exploding as death filled the air. Though any partisan in its path was forced to duck, bullets continued to crack by him, some so close that their warmth nearly burned. Still, he remained focused on his task, only breaking his steady gaze forward to look over his shoulder, the blurry shape of the fleeing soldier causing a grim smile to form on his beak before he returned to his barrage of fire.
After what felt like hours, but in reality was probably barely a minute, the gun went click. He let go of it, briefly watching steam rise off the red-hot barrel before he spun around, desperately clambering out of the ditch and booking it in the direction the rest had gone. There was a brief moment where the ponies seemed unsure if the hailstorm of lead was going to continue, before they figured it wasn't and began to move again, firing their weapons as they did so. More and more bullets impacted the trees and branches around Bernard as he ran, causing him to flinch and duck as fragments of wood splinters and leaves covered him like snow. One bullet found its target, lodging itself in his left wing, a terrible hissing coming out involuntarily of Bernard's mouth as red hot pain began to throb in his entire wing.
Knowing he couldn't fly made his legs work harder, his muscles tensing and his heart pounding as he moved as fast as his four legs could possibly carry him. Despite that however, the partisans never seemed far behind, the crack of gunfire and shouting never that far behind. At some point, his brain realized that if they were following him, he'd lead them right to the others, who were no doubt scattered and shaken, unprepared for another fight. With this in mind, he deviated his path, turning east, deeper into the forest, hoping to lead the ponies on a wild goose chase. He crashed through branches and bushes on purpose, trying to leave a more obvious trail for the partisans to follow, hissing and grunting every time his injured wing received even the slightest touch from anything. That pain was nothing however compared to the burn in his legs and his lungs, which only intensified the longer he kept going. But the distant shouting kept him going, praying that the fools would follow him instead of the others.
"Come on you slow fucks! Come on! Get your prey!" He whispered through his clenched beak, as if might somehow be heard and taunt his pursuers.
For just a moment, less than a second, he turned his head to look over his shoulder, trying to gauge if there was anyone following him. It only took that one second for his front claw to catch something, throwing him off balance and sending him tumbling forward with a squawk. The feeling of weightlessness as he flew briefly through the air was sharply contrasted by the sudden pain as he returned to the ground, rolling over a few times before eventually coming to a stop. Groaning and panting, Bernard laid there on his back for far too long, unable to force his body to listen to his commands, his lungs forcing air into him and his limbs refusing to cooperate with his efforts to stand. Straining, he managed to throw his weight and roll over onto his stomach, making a sharp tweet as the pain in his wing was now significantly worse, throbbing with every slight movement he had.
With a deep breath, he braced his legs against the ground and tried to stand, trembling as he slowly rose, only for one of his back legs to give way and send him back down. Groaning again, he rolled onto his side and looked down, seeing that in the tumble, he'd twisted one of his paws.
"Ahhhh… Shit…"
He rolled back onto his stomach, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths as he thought of what to do next. In the distance, the shouts had gotten fewer but could tell that some were distinctly getting closer. Even as the brave griff he was, he didn't like to imagine what the partisans might do to him if they captured him alive. With some panic starting to creep into his mind, he started to crawl forward on his front claws, using his good paw to help push him along, eyes going every which way as he looked for somewhere that might hide him. Before, the dark forest had felt almost… familiar. Somewhere he'd gotten used too and where the silly dangers never truly shook his nerves the way they did some other griffs. But now, defenseless and hurt, crawling through the leaves and brush, the trees looming tall over him and the moon stolen away behind the tree-tops, he almost wanted some monster to jump out of the bushes at him. It would, at the very least, be faster.
Bernard struggled forward for a while, unable to find somewhere he could reasonably go unseen. The shouting behind him had stopped, but somewhere deep in his instincts he knew he was still being followed. Every pull and push of himself made his muscles ache, and he could feel himself losing strength quickly, probably from the blood loss and his waning battle spirit. Slowly, he began to accept the very real fate that whether he was found by the ponies or not, he might truly have finally met his end. That realization, that acceptance, brought him some comfort and he began to look not for somewhere to hide, but for somewhere to rest and regain his strength. He spotted a tree with a bed of leaves around the base that seemed a particularly cozy place to wait things out.
With some effort, Bernard managed to crawl over to the tree and pushed himself up against it , clawing up by digging his talons deep into the wood before he turned his body and sat with his back against the trunk. That seemed to take the last bit of his strength, his front legs dropping lifelessly to his side, his lungs once again desperate for air and head swimming violently. His eyes flickered and fluttered, eyelids as heavy as the rest of his body. It felt like any moment, his soul would leave his body so he could be judged by the Gods. In preparation for this pending judgment, his tongue began to move, rolling out a quiet prayer in a dry scratchy voice he barely recognized as his own.
"Father Boreas… Forgive my soul, and may you weigh it righteously when I stand before you. Mother Eyr, take this weary child back into your loving bosom, and return me to your sacred earth. Arcturus, judge my deeds as you see fit and, should you judge I worthy, allow me into the ranks of thy holy-"
His solemn prayer was interrupted by a rustling nearby. His head shot up and his eyes no longer felt heavy, as they looked off in the direction he'd heard the noise. Though he couldn't see anything, he could feel a presence. Could feel he was being watched, so he stared right back at it for some time. Eventually, he grew frustrated with this strange staring contest and turned his head away in anger and disgust.
"Come on!" He shouted, voice boisterous and frustrated. "Come on kill me already, damn you! Stop hiding!"
Briefly, the strength to raise a claw returned, which he waved flippantly and defiantly in the air before it fell across his chest. When nothing made itself none if the immediate aftermath of his outburst, he sighed deeply and let his body relax, reaching his talon into his uniform and taking out the little cigarette case he carried with him. He held it in his claws and inspected a noticeably large dent in the center of where a bullet had struck it. This little piece of metal had saved his life, the way he'd always thought it might whenever he placed it back over his heart. Shame though that now it couldn't do anything for him except provide a bit of comfort. Opening the thing up, he removed the last smoke he'd managed to get his claws on. Some awful awful thing that crossed the Griffking from Hellquill, bitter and acrid and without a single upside other than he had it with him now. Oh, how he missed the stuff grown in Rijekograd. All they got from there now was bullets and shells. The thought made him chuckle a bit as he struggled to pull his lighter from his pockets.
The first taste of that horrible tobacco made him cough violently, louder than he could have ever yelled. It echoed through the forest and he sighed, leaning his head back, against the tree, head lulling to one side as he puffed away. He sat and listened, listened as there was another rustle and then another. Soon, a shadow appeared on the edge of his vision, trying and failing to go unseen behind a tree, perhaps forgetting that griffons had sharper night-eye than ponies. He didn't call out though, just let them get closer and closer, wondering what in Maars damned name was taking them so long. When they failed to be quiet whilst moving towards him again, he shook his head and took the cigarette out of his mouth, finally deciding to end this silliness.
"I see you. I know you see me. Come on, like I said, just hurry it up."
The figure froze, terrified at being called out, probably frozen to the spot like an animal when its notices a predator. Funny, given that the pony was clearly the hunter in this situation. Ponies, always such skittish creatures.
"No need to be afraid. I am unarmed." Bernard called out again, placing the cigarette back in his beak, moving his head to the other side, almost amused.
Whether the creature understood him or not, they gave up hiding and began to approach. Bernard took a deep breath and sighed in contentment as the pony walked until they were just a few paces away from him. As he watched the pony's magical glow spark and levitate a rifle off their shoulder, he shut his eyes, listening to the soft 'click-clack' as the rifle was bolted. He took a final inhale, expecting to hear a gunshot ring any moment. But then a moment passed. Then another. And finally another. The cigarette was starting to burn low in his mouth.
Confused, Bernard opened his eyes again and saw the pony standing stock still again, rifle glowing a soft teal and leveled right around his chest. He cocked his head and looked at the pony, silent seconds ticking by loudly in his ears.
"Well?" He questioned, using a talon to draw a circle around the center of his chest.
The pony gave no response and the awkward standoff continued a moment more, before the pony's gun slowly trembled to point down at the gun. When they began to approach even closer, Bernard sat up, ready to defend himself from the pony if need be. Finding a new wellspring of energy, his talons curled and prepared to cut the pony to ribbons as soon as they got into range, only for him to hesitate when he caught a glimpse of familiar reddish-brown hair past the glare of the pony's horn. Where did he know that from? And why was this pony so hesitant to just shoot him! It didn't make sense. Not until the pony kneeled down next to him.
That face. Those tired aquamarine eyes that had glinted in the lantern light, equal parts fear and defiance. Those cheeks that had been gaunt and shivering. That horn that barely poked out from a ratty old flat cap. Now, that young stallion who'd been terrified of him now stood over him, looking almost… pitying. Bernard did have to give lad credit though. When put together in a proper kit and uniform, the lad looked quite respectable. Almost worthy to march in a Griffon regiment. And who knew what he looked like now, exhausted, crippled and bloody. Now, what did the pony even want?
He listened to the pony murmur a couple words he couldn't understand as they looked him over, resisting the urge to slash a claw across their snout when the pony touched him. After some time, the pony looked up at him, eyes full of focus.
"Hurt?" they whispered, brow furrowed and gaze peering down at the twisted paw.
"Yes." Bernard said, his beak clenched as he gently twitched his wing, sending hot agony down his entire back. "Hurt."
The pony gently 'hmmmmed' and stepped back, peering at the wounded wing and the blood that had pooled on the ground or been smeared against the tree. Bernard had to stop himself from grinning again when the pony's face twisted into a tight grimace.
"Your friend almost got me. Might still get me yet."
Whether the pony couldn't understand him or simply ignored him, they peered quickly over their shoulders as if they expected to be ambushed at any moment. Bernard opened his beak to inform them he was all alone, but was surprised to watch the pony tear away the cloak they wore and lay it on the ground in front of him.
"I help." the pony said, motioning to the cloak. "On. Quick, before others."
"Heh," Bernard chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. "You can't be serious…"
The pony didn't say a single word, but only motioned towards the cloak again, rolling their rifle up in some of it in order to form a better grip. The look in their eye told him that they were dead serious, and that he'd better hurry up and take this deal. Blinking, Bernard scooted forward and gently laid himself onto the cloak belly first, so as to save his wing from more pain. Once he was one, the pony grabbed the cloak by the makeshift handle and looked back at him.
"Way?"
With a grunt, Bernard raised his quivering claw to the north-west, the only way he could imagine most had run. With only that instruction, the pony began to drag him along the ground as quickly as they could. Though he jostled around and was sometimes run into brush or small stones, it felt a lot better than dragging himself along and was much faster. He couldn't believe it really. Here he was, shot, bleeding, unable to walk or even stand, getting dragged through the woods by a pony. A pony who's life he'd saved nonetheless. Some part of himself chastised that earlier decision. That twerp was back now, a fighter in the partisans who'd killed who knew how many of his allies. For all he knew, they were even the one to shoot him! But what did it really matter anymore? He couldn't fight it even if he wanted to, and it wasn't worth questioning. He chalked it up to the strange whims of the Gods and thanked them for this unexpected, but very much appreciated, mercy.
He wasn't sure how long or how far he was dragged for, time becoming a pretty meaningless concept the farther they went. Neither of them had any clue of knowing if any of his comrades were even still out here and hadn't run off, leaving him behind. Bernard liked to think that his squad and his platoon were brave enough to stand and come back survivors and bodies, but in reality he wasn't very sure. Him and the pony didn't say anything, hardly made eye contact. Somehow, neither of them seemed happy with this arrangement but were both dead-set on seeing it through. Maybe that pony also thought his gods were involved, presenting him an opportunity to pay off a debt of lives. Were the ponies gods even that honorable? Were his own gods this merciful? Or was this really just some chance meeting of great coincidence. He blinked. Now he knew he truly was dying, asking such meaningless questions and doubting his own faith. Goodness, could this pony go any faster?
They pair stopped atop a small hill, which the pony had struggled to carry him up, despites Bernard's best attempts to help pull himself along. By the time they reached top, they were both panting, and a strange chill was slowly creeping up his body. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was the cold claw of Maar coming to take him. He tried to ignore it as he looked around their surroundings for any sign of survivors from his unit had come this way, needing some reassurance that this wasn't for naught. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a faint flicker of light through the trees, turning into a soft laugh as he thought back to those months ago. Where had he seen this before? Another beacon, holy sent, guiding them to finishing a mission laid unnoticed before both of them. When the pony looked over to see why the griff was laughing, Bernard simply pointed in the direction of the beacon, watching as the pony's eyes grew wide. With new found strength, they again wrapped their magic around the makeshift sled and began to pull more vigorously than before.
Sliding down that hillside might have finally killed Bernard if not for the hope of finally being once again reunited with his comrades. Even a noble griff like him could no longer resist yelping and whimpering every time he knocked against a root or rock or just whenever the wind ran over him too harshly. His savior mumbled words of what he could only guess were of encouragement and sympathy. Or, maybe, they were cursing him out and telling him to act like a griffon. Whatever the case, it didn't take them long to be close enough to the source of light to hear voices, voices which Bernard could understand. These were no doubt griffons. Without his knowledge, tears began to form on his eyes and another quiet laugh emanated from his throat without command.
"Thank the Gods…" He murmured quietly, looking at the pony who was coming to a stop, hiding both of them behind a tree. "And thank you."
The pony looked back at him and took a few cautious steps over, kneeling down beside Bernard again, their eyes filled with some of that same fear from that fateful night. Slowly, Bernard reached a claw up and touched the pony's shoulder, gripping it gently.
"Thank you. Now, we are even."
"Yes." The pony said quietly, with a quick firm nod.
With that, the pony stood up, made one last cautious look over their shoulder and began to creep away.
"Wait." Bernard whispered sharply, the pony's ears swiveling towards him the same time as their head. "Here. Take this."
Barely managing to lift the object, which felt like it weighed more than anything he'd ever held before, Bernard held out the dented little metal case which had saved his life. Though they were now even, some part of his brain wanted the deal to be truly sealed. What better option than a true trade?
"It saved me. I hope… I hope it saves you too."
Though they almost certainly had no idea what he was saying, the pony's magic wrapped around the case and levitated it over, inspecting it curiously before looking back at him. Bernard made a circle around his heart as if they might explain everything, and the pony quickly stashed it away somewhere in their uniform. Bernard nodded and groaned, letting his head hit the ground and his eyes slam close, listening to the ponies' hoofsteps grow further and further away until they completely disappeared. What a strange night. Another miracle, so soon after his first one. Gods willing, there wouldn't be another one…