//------------------------------//
// A Brother's Love 
// Story: A Brother's Love 
// by Sendor 
//------------------------------//


A Brother's Love


A lilting tune drifted down into the snow-covered valley. A harmony of plucked cords wound its way through the boughs of the evergreens that make their home so high in the mountains. The late morning sunlight twirling about with the clouds streaming overhead, seemingly danced in time with the happy music. A hidden brook and a choir of brightly colored birds lent their voices in a chorus of natural beauty. As the song wound down to its final soft cords the valley seemed to sigh and grow still. The musician, perched on his tree high above the valley, let the last note die as he savored its bittersweet resonance.

“Shouldn’t you be training?”

“Gah!” Hartwin nearly fell out of his tree, only catching himself with a powerful stroke of his wings. His lute tumbled from his grasp landing with a disgruntled clunk at the base of the tree. Hartwin steadied himself on his branch in the gnarled oak before bounding down onto a lower branch and then another. Landing in a crouch, he delicately scooped up the lute in his talons and inspected it for damage. Finding none, he glanced up.

“Ancestors above, Saxa! Were you trying to frighten me to death?” Hartwin glared at the offending griffiness.

Saxa lowered herself onto her stomach giving Hartwin an appraising look. “Oh, that would be the day. Certainly, a great warrior such as yourself could never be vanquished by little old me?”

“Your wit is as sharp as your talons,” Hartwin deadpanned. Looking back to his lute, he tested a cord. It was a little flat.

“Well you seem to think you’re an apt enough warrior, the way you shirk your training to frolic amongst the trees like some dainty pony.” Saxa stood suddenly and began to pace back and forth, “When was the last time you did flight maneuvers or practiced your talonswork? What of your archery? It’s the most basic skill we as griffins must maintain to-”

“To serve the greatness of the tribe,” Hartwin interrupted impatiently. “I know. Between you and my brother I think I remember.”

“Oh, it shows. If you had half the will of your-”

“Why are you here, Saxa? You didn’t come all this way and find me just to lecture me. You could have easily waited until dinner for that and had an audience.” Saxa growled at his second interruption. If he kept this up, he knew, she might well pounce on him.

“The Chieftain wants you back at the village.” Saxa turned to walk back toward the village. “I’m to escort you back personally, so you don’t get lost.”

“Oh joy,” muttered Hartwin with a roll of his eyes.

“Get moving!” snapped Saxa loudly, startling the birds out of the valley and making Hartwin jump. He hurried along after her careful to keep his distance just in case.

They walked to the village. They could have flown but Hartwin suspected Saxa wanted to cool off a little before meeting with the Chieftain. He didn’t complain. Hartwin loved the mountain forests this time of the year. Well, he loved them anytime of the year but winter brought out such a stark contrast of light and shadow. The world seemed to be waiting in quiet reverie, contemplating all the goodness of nature. It brought to mind a song he’d learned long ago. Hartwin couldn’t help the smile that creased his beak.

Hartwin turned his golden eyes on the young griffiness leading him back to the village. She was the one to teach him the song when he was but a cub. So much had changed since then, though. Where once Saxa was a sweet cheerful girl, now she was a warrior bearing the weight of the tribe’s expectations. Could he really be blamed for avoiding that fate? If a griffin as strong willed as Saxa could be made hard and unfeeling, what chance did he have?

One thing hadn’t changed, however. Saxa was still beautiful and as smart as any unicorn scholar. He often wondered if it was her cold nature that warded away any potential suitors or was it her perceived closeness to the Chieftain. Oh well, Hartwin supposed it didn’t matter. Seemingly, romance was the furthest thing from Saxa’s mind.

“We’re here,” Saxa’s voice cut through Hartwin’s reverie. “You can stop gawking at me now.”

Hartwin blushed under his feathers and looked away. He hadn’t notice them enter the village or approach the Great Hall. Nestled in a high pass in the mountains, the Blood Talon’s village wasn’t as big as some but it wasn’t small either. The buildings clung to the cliff faces on either side, some as high above as 30 meters. They were made of cut lumber from the valleys below and carved with all the craftsmanship of the griffin tribes.

Among the haphazardly placed buildings, dozens of griffins of all ages and stations went about their daily lives. The sounds of a blacksmiths and street merchants met their ears bringing with it the smells of warm hearths and baking bread. Not all those Hartwin could see and hear were griffins of course. The slaves were out in force that day as well. It broke Hartwin’s heart to see them.

Since time immemorial, griffins kept slaves of other races, even of other tribes of griffins. It was a practice most found to be honorable as surely there is no more honorable duty for the conquered. But those poor souls didn’t always see it that way. It was a miserable existence. Given only enough to survive they were tasked with the most difficult, most disgusting jobs in the village. If they failed or disobeyed their lives could be forfeit. Hartwin had trouble reconciling such cruelty with his own beliefs.

Suddenly, Hartwin felt a talon grip his beak and pull it down. It was Saxa. She had a strange smile on her face. Hartwin wondered what that meant.

“Come on, feather-brain,” she chuckled. “We’ve dilly-dallied long enough. The Chieftain is waiting for us.” She let go of his beak and slapped it gently before turning to enter the hall. Bewildered, Hartwin followed.

The room beyond the heavy timber doors was large, two rows of meter-thick wooden columns holding up the vaulted ceiling. The floor was polished smooth and gleaming, with colorful tapestries hanging from the walls depicting the bloody history of the griffin tribes. Hartwin couldn’t help wonder how anyone made something as terrible as the slaughter of warrior griffins seem so beautiful. At the far end of the room behind a table laden with stacks of parchment and scrolls piled high, sat the Chieftain reading by the light of a candle. As the doors let the winter chill into the room, he looked up.

“Hartwin! Saxa! It’s about time you two turned up. He didn’t give you any trouble did he, Saxa?” The Chieftain boomed from behind a pile of rolled maps at his table.

“Only the usual kind, Chieftain,” Saxa replied with a smirk.

The Chieftain’s laugh echoed through the hall. He motioned with his talon for them to come closer, his eyes returning to the parchment he held.

After a few moments, Hartwin couldn’t take the silence any more. “You wanted to see me?”

The Chieftain looked up. “Of course, I’m keeping you from your training.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his voice. Saxa must not have complete ratted him out recently. “There’s a raid coming up soon, in the next few days in fact. I want you to join it.”

Hartwin’s wings ruffled of their own accord. “A raid! S-surely there are more qualified –”

“You’re going,” the Chieftain said sternly, “It’s decided.”

“B-but!”

“Hartwin,” the Chieftain put down the parchment and stood, “you are my brother. It is expected of you to go on at least one raid. I can’t let it be seen that I allow you to shirk your duties to the tribe. It shows favoritism and sets a bad example for the other warriors.”

“Gerulf, I-I can’t! I --”

“What’s the matter, brother? Certainly your training has readied you for this. I thought you’d be eager to test yourself in true combat.”

“Well, you see…”

“You have been training, haven’t you?” Gerulf set a steely gaze on his brother.

“Um…” Hartwin crumbled under his brother’s stare, “I may have been –”

“It’s my fault, Chieftain, I haven’t been stern enough with him,” Saxa suddenly spoke up. Gerulf turned his gaze to her. She held his gaze with a steady one of her own.

To Hartwin’s surprise, Gerulf broke away first. With a sigh, he sat heavily behind his table and rested his head in his talon.

“No, Saxa, it’s not your responsibility to care for my brother, though I thank you for doing so anyway. No, it is I who is shirking his responsibility as an elder brother. Perhaps I have been too soft on you, brother. Maybe it’s time I retook the reigns in your training.”

“What! No, nonono!” Hartwin panicked slightly, “I mean you’re a busy griffin. Who’d run the tribe while you’re busy with me?”

“Perhaps…” Gerulf pondered, “Let’s see a demonstration then.”

“What?” Hartwin stared at his brother.

“A demonstration of your archery, I think. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Now?”

“Of course,” Gerulf pointed to a helmet mounted on the wall above the entrance to the Great Hall. “That’s your target.”

Hartwin looked at his brother then to Saxa, who shrugged at him. With a defeated sigh, Hartwin pulled the composite bow out of the sheath on his side and strung it. With an arrow from his quiver, he took aim at the sturdy helmet. It was about ten meter’s away. It should have been an easy shot for any novice. Hartwin however couldn’t keep his mind focused. He kept interrupting his own thoughts. Will he make a fool of himself? Will he disappoint his brother and Saxa yet again? If he does make this shot does that mean he’ll have to go into battle in the next couple days? What if he gets hurt or someone gets hurt because of him?

Hartwin balanced on his hind legs preparing to make the shot but by the time he put the arrow to the string, he was shaking so badly he dropped the arrow. With a nervous laugh he snatched it back up and tried again. This time he nocked the arrow without too much trouble. Taking a deep breath, Hartwin drew back the bow and sighted the shot. He held the breath then released it. As the last of the air left his lungs he released the arrow.

Almost immediately, Hartwin could tell the shot was off. The arrow struck a heavy metal shield hanging about a meter to the right of his target. It was redirected down. There was a splash and a shriek as the arrow embedded itself into the bucket of a unicorn filly scrubbing the floor.

Without thinking, Hartwin dashed over. “Are you alright?” he asked the trembling pony, “I didn’t hit you, did I?” He reached down and pulled her up so she was standing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Brother,” boomed Gerulf’s voice. Hartwin looked up. Gerulf looked ready to burst and Saxa had her face in her talon. “The brother of the chieftain does not apologize to slaves.”

“Oh, um…” Hartwin hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

Gerulf turned his gaze on the pony filly and thundered, “Clean that mess up and leave.”

“Y-yes, master,” she scrambled to mop-up the spilled water with the rag she was holding, “right away, master.”

“Brother, I’m sor—,” Hartwin began. Gerulf held up a talon effectively cutting him off.

“Saxa, I want you to take my brother and train with him in the training fields. If he doesn’t cooperate, I want you to attack him until he has to fight back. If you have to, recruit some of the cubs from the village. They should be able to teach him something. I expect him ready for the raid.”

With that final proclamation, Gerulf picked up his parchment again and began reading. Clearly their audience was over. Saxa quietly led Hartwin out of the hall, past the still mopping pony, and toward the training fields. That night Hartwin returned to his nest with a many new bruises and a healthy respect for training dummies.





Apparently, the raid wouldn’t be quite as soon as Gerulf had expected. This was both a good and a bad thing. It was good because it gave Hartwin a little more time to train. This meant there was a little less chance of him ending up on funerary pyre. It was bad because it meant a very annoyed Gerulf, which meant an annoyed Saxa, which meant a much bruised Hartwin.

All in all, six days after his audience with his brother, a beaten and battered Hartwin found himself flying in formation as Saxa’s wing-griffin with his brother and half-dozen griffin warriors. Hartwin like most of the warriors on this particular raid knew very little about the target, other than it was a group of traveling ponies and they could expect heavy resistance. Hartwin suspected Saxa knew more but she wouldn’t tell him.

They had been flying for nearly two hours and were well out of Blood Talon territory. There route seemed to be taking them out of the mountains altogether. Now they were flying over heavily forested hills with a river winding in and out of view on the horizon. Hartwin had never been this far from home before and was surprised by how many of the trees here were bare in the winter. He thought the trees below were like skeletons dancing in the wind. It made him want to compose a new song.

Suddenly, Saxa let out a war call, like the call of an eagle. It was the only way to be heard effectively at their altitude with the wind blowing in their ears. Apparently, she had spotted the ambush site. In a feat of coordinated flying, marred only by Hartwin’s clumsy formation flying, the griffins all angled down shallow spiraling dive at once.

A few moments later, the griffins were nestled amongst the trees near a narrow road waiting for their orders. Gerulf stood proudly amongst them, his beak flashing in the sun. This was obviously his element, standing before a troop of able bodied warriors about to lead them gloriously into battle. He seemed so sure of himself, like the butterflies that so affected Hartwin didn’t even exist for him. It seemed so unfair. Gerulf was born with all the courage and skill, while little Hartwin was afflicted with a soft heart and wondering mind.

Gerulf was speaking to the warriors now but Hartwin couldn’t hear him. His heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out everything around him. He couldn’t even hear the beautiful music of the forest he loved so much. The world was swimming around him and he felt like he might faint. It was so unfair. None of the other warrior seemed nervous at all. They all looked eager even, like they couldn’t wait to dash those ponies on the forest floor.

Something jostled him. Hartwin looked up and found Saxa looking at him, saying something he couldn’t hear. She had a talon on his shoulder giving him little shakes as if to wake him.

“W-what?” Hartwin’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“I said ‘breath’,” she repeated patiently. She offered him a canteen, “Sip some water. It’ll help.”

Hartwin took the canteen and tried to swallow a mouthful of water but choked on it. Saxa slapped his back a few times until he stopped coughing.

“I said ‘sip some water’, feather-brain,” she said soothingly. “It’ll be fine. Me and the Chieftain will look after you. You probably won’t even see the enemy before they’re all gone.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

“Thank, Saxa,” Hartwin muttered. It really did help, knowing she was there. She looked very impressive in here polished bronze helmet and studded leather armor. Her battle talons glinted dangerously in the midafternoon sun. 

She gripped his shoulder a final time before walking toward Gerulf who was address his troops individually now. It seemed he’d finished his speech and most of the warrior had taken their positions on either side of the road to await the ambush. Hartwin was kind of sad he missed it. Saxa spoke softly for a moment with Gerulf and they both looked over at Hartwin. He could feel his plumage droop. She was telling Gerulf about his cowardice.

A moment later Gerulf and Saxa approached him. If Hartwin had been impressed with Saxa’s uniform, it was nothing compared to his brother’s. Gerulf was dressed in the finest armor a griffin could want; a gleaming bronze helmet with intricate designs etched into it and plumed with crimson feathers, a matching bronze chest plate, and the sharpest battle talons he’d ever seen. For a silly moment, Hartwin felt underdressed in his leather cap and armor. He knew it was all he could be expected to fly in but he still felt a little jealous. 

“Are you ready, brother?” asked Gerulf, gripping his shoulder much the way Saxa had earlier.

“Of course, Chieftain,” Hartwin thought he sounded more confident than he felt. This was confirmed by Saxa’s wry smile. 

“Good, good, in any case, I want you to stick close to Saxa. She’ll watch your back and you’ll watch hers. Wait in the trees for my signal. When you hear it, start shooting. We’ll try to thin them out before we rush them. Remember, stick close to Saxa.”

“Yes, brother,” to Hartwin’s surprise Gerulf embraced him before marching off to join his troops. Hartwin turned to Saxa and gave her a half smile.

“You’ll not be getting any hugs from me,” she smiled back. “Come on, let’s get in position.”
It was nearly two hours before Hartwin heard the clomping of hooves and the clanking of armor. The steady, rhythmic hoof-falls of the ponies seemed unnatural in the winter forest, like an off beat in an otherwise perfect harmony. He watched as the ponies came into view. They were unicorns, each dressed in an identical suit of heavy iron armor and a purple-plumed helmet. There were at least a dozen guards arrayed around a coach drawn by four of their number. On the side of the coach and on the armored flank of each pony was a silhouette profile of a unicorn. Hartwin recognized it as the royal crest of the unicorn kingdom. Whatever or whoever was in that coach must have been very important.

Suddenly, a war call rang out. The combined cries of the attacking griffins were almost deafening. The terrible clamor of battle filled Hartwin’s ears, the twang of bows, the hissing of arrows, and the cries of the wounded. A great crash torn through the noise as a tree fell in front of the pony’s coach, effectively blocking their escape. The road was too narrow to turn on.

Hartwin was able to make two shots, both of which missed terribly. One fell so short he may have been shooting at the ground. The other went wild into the trees. He was a little afraid he may have an unsuspecting griffin with that one. 

The cry for the rush came before he could nock another arrow. Saxa glanced at him before using her wings to vault over the log they’d been hiding behind. Hartwin made to follow her but his bow tangled with his rear paws and it took a moment to get free.

He bounded into the melee but he couldn’t find Saxa anywhere. The stink of sweat, blood, and fear met Hartwin’s nostrils. The battle was chaos. He couldn’t hear for the war cries and screams of death. His own fearful sweat stung his eyes.

As Hartwin moved through the madness in search of Saxa, he tripped. Looking down he came face to with staring unicorn corpse, its face locked in a death mask of abject terror. Hartwin let out a sharp cry and scurried back until he impacted something.

Turning around, Hartwin came face to face with a snarling, very much alive unicorn soldier. He reared up on his hind legs with a terrible snorting whinny. Hartwin only barely avoided his stomping hooves by throwing himself to the side. The unicorn wasted no time. He twisted himself around and launched a mighty blow with his rear legs. It was all Hartwin could do to roll out the way but the pony caught him in the side with a glancing blow. Gasping for breath, Hartwin could do nothing as the unicorn lowered his horn and a magical aura shimmered into existence around it.

With a cry like the Furies themselves, Saxa crashed into the side of the unicorn. She delivered three blinding slashes to the fallen pony and it lay unmoving. Saxa looked like a fiend of the pit her armor dented. She had blood and gore dripping from her talons and beak. A trill of fear shot up Hartwin’s spine at the sight of her. This was the sweet, playful girl he grew up with.

Reaching down she pulled him to his paws and looked him over, “You’re unharmed?”

Hartwin nodded not trusting himself to speak.

“Stick by me,” she ordered, “we need to find your brother.”

It didn’t take long. The battle was already waning. They found him at the rear of the coach fighting three unicorns at once, a circle of cheering griffins surrounding them. If it could be called fighting at all, he moved through them like water through a net. Their hooves and horns and battle magic couldn’t touch him. Hartwin had grown up listening to the sagas of great heroes, he knew their song by heart, and none of them came close to his brother’s skill in battle. It almost seemed like Gerulf was playing with them. Hartwin wasn’t the most seasoned warrior but he had seen several opening for Gerulf to end the fight already. A cruel light danced in his brother’s eyes. Hartwin knew his brother hated the ponies but this terribly cruel even for an enemy.

It seemed his brother grew tired of his game for in an instant the battle was over. With a single blow to each, the unicorns lay unmoving in the snow. All was quiet for a moment, like the forest was taking a breath, and then a raucous cheer went up. Griffin cries filled the trees extending to every corner of the forest like a flood wiping away all other noise.

It was the cheer that masked the sound of the coach’s door bursting open in a sudden flash of magic. Gerulf turned too late to counter or dodge the attack by this unicorn, clad in shining golden armor and a crown atop his helm. It seemed that the great leader of the Blood Talons would fall in battle this day.

Before he realized what was happening, Hartwin had his bow in his talon and an arrow nocked. He released it without a thought and let fly. Even as the arrow left Hartwin’s talon he knew the shot was true. The arrow cleaved the unicorn’s armor, burying itself deep into his breast, and sinking straight to the heart. The unicorn’s spell died with him as his limp body fell to the earth with a dull thud. His crown lay gleaming in the snow.

Another cheer razed the peace of the forest. Hartwin found himself being raised above his fellow warrior and carried to the fore. He was lowered before his brother where he was surprised for a second time that day. His brother embraced him once again. Gerulf pulled away and smiled at Hartwin before turning to the crowd of warriors.

“My brother!” he cried out. The warrior let out another wild cry. Hartwin could see Saxa amongst them putting the bigger, stronger warriors to shame with her sheer volume. When the crowd had quieted down, Gerulf addressed them again, “My brother, has saved my life, and our cause! He had done this with skill and courage and honor! With a single arrow he has slain the king of the unicorns and assured us our place in this world!” Gerulf plucked the crown from the head of the fallen unicorn and thrust it into the air. The crowd cheered once again.

With the helmet removed, Hartwin saw that the unicorn was a stallion of some years with a strong build and a kind face. It was strange. Despite the violence of his death, the unicorn had a peaceful expression like he had been resigned to his fate. There was a twinge of something in Hartwin’s heart. Was it regret? Surely he didn’t regret saving his brother. No, perhaps it was sadness at having robbed this pony of his years ahead. Hartwin could feel this pony had been noble, in his own way. It had to be a noble pony to face certain death charging an insurmountable enemy. 

Suddenly, Hartwin felt unclean. This pony had rushed into battle in a last desperate bid to avenge his comrades only to be slain by a coward at the back of the crowd. What had he done? What had they all done? Why had this been so necessary, this death and carnage. 

Hartwin looked to his brother. That cruel light in his brother’s eyes made sense now. It wasn’t the light of a noble creature fighting for his comrades in arms but the light of madman taking pleasure in the death and mutilation of his enemies. Why had they done this? What was the point?

“Come, brother,” Gerulf was talking again, to him this time, “let us collect our spoils.”

Gerulf led Hartwin to the coach, where he climbed in. Hartwin followed warily. Inside the coach were all silk and gold trimmings. Gerulf ignored these though and tore at the floor boards until he revealed a lockbox in a secret compartment.

“Just where he said it would be,” muttered Gerulf to himself. He reached down and pulled the lockbox out of the compartment. The lockbox was an iron affair riveted together with solid iron bands. The padlock on the front was almost as big as Hartwin’s talon. Hartwin couldn’t imagine the force it would take to open such a thing even without the magical protection that must be on it.

Gerulf reached a talon into the neck of his armor and fished out a leather pouch. From the pouch his brother pulled a small glass phial with a strange green liquid inside. Un-stoppering the phial, an acrid smell filled the coach, making Hartwin gag. Gerulf upended the phial over the padlock. The foul liquid did not land on the lock, however. It seemed to hover above the lock, sizzling against an unseen barrier before finally landing on the lock itself. Instantly, the lock sprang open and crumbled to dust.

From inside the lockbox, Gerulf pulled a small silken bundle of cloth. He pulled away the cloth to reveal a small golden statue. It was a strange statue. It consisted of two ornate spheres rotating around a third central sphere. It was pretty but Hartwin didn’t understand why his brother held it with such reverence.

“Is that it, brother?” asked Hartwin, bewildered. This couldn’t be all the fighting and death had been about, could it?

“This is it, brother,” Gerulf hadn’t taken his eyes off the statue. “Can you feel its power?”

“Ah…” Hartwin could not, but he was hesitant to admit this to his frankly intimidating older brother.

“It’s the Orrery of the Heavens. It’s the source of the unicorn’s power. With this the unicorns have controlled the Sun and the Moon and so shall we,” the mad glint in Gerulf’s eyes were frightening Hartwin.

“But how,” Hartwin asked cautiously, “We know no sorcery.”

“No mere sorcery can control this artifact,” his brother proclaimed. “Only the blood of the royal unicorn line had the power to wield its power.”

“But how…”

“Come, let us show the warrior what they have fought and bled for,” Gerulf stood and flew from the coach, carrying the orrery with him. He held it above his head and let out a piercing shriek. “This is the Orrery of the Heavens, the source of the unicorns’ power, and now it is ours! With this relic we shall purge the land of the hated ponies and rule the skies once again!”

For the final time that day, a cheer rang out in the forest but this time Hartwin’s heart could not be stirred to join. A deep pit of sadness filled him as a future of blood and death was laid bare before him. For the first time in his life, no song sooth his soul and he was blind to the beauty of nature around him. Somewhere, out in this wild world a child no longer had a father and its future would be marked by bloody war.





The sun set over the valley was beautiful, a delicate painting of pink and purple spread across the western sky. Even the snowcapped mountains were glowing in radiance of the dying light. Hartwin would normally be moved to song by the sheer majesty of it all. Tonight, however, the song in his heart was silence. As well it should be, he thought.

It seemed his fellow villagers didn’t agree with him, however. The music and cavorting of the villager could be heard even this far away from the village. It disgusted him that they could turn something so horrible into something to celebrate. It disgusted him that he had ever celebrated the fighting of a battle. There was no honor in war. What most disgusted him though was his own weakness. Even as wave and wave of bitterness washed over him, he couldn’t bring himself to hate them. Shouldn’t he hate such evil creatures as these?

But he couldn’t. They were his friend, his neighbors, and his family. What they were doing was evil but that didn’t make them evil. They didn’t understand as he did. They couldn’t see the way this affected them. How these terrible crimes corrupted them. His brother had enjoyed the death of his enemies and so he seeks more death. There is no end to that quest. Hartwin didn’t want that for himself or his people.

Something rustled behind him. He turned to find Saxa standing a few paces away. She was no longer in her armor and she’d cleaned the traces of war from her feathers and fur. It was as though nothing had happened. But that wasn’t true and he knew it.

“What are you doing out here?” Hartwin asked. He was surprised by the harshness in his own voice. That hadn’t been there before.

“I could ask you the same thing, hero,” she smiled at him, a soft hesitant smile, like she was afraid to scare his away. “Why aren’t you at the feast?”

“I think I liked ‘feather-brain’ better,” Hartwin turned back to the setting sun. He heard Saxa close the distance between them and settle next to him.

“I think I know what you’re thinking, you know,” her scarlet eyes stared at the fading horizon. Hartwin remained silent. “’What kind of creatures are we that would do that to another?’” She glanced up at him and caught his gaze. “Am I right?”

“H-how did you know?” Hartwin couldn’t hold her gaze and turned away.

“Because that’s what I thought after my first battle,” she rested her head of her talons. “I almost turned in my battle talons that day.”

“What made you change your mind?” Hartwin had to know. If she knew how wrong this all is.

“You did,” she said simply. “That night you found me and made me listen to the song you learned that day. Do you remember?”

“No, I don’t,” he shook his head apologetically.

“I didn’t think you would. It was a simple song,” she assured him, “just a story set to music really.”

“What was it?”

“The song?” she asked, “It was the Ballad of Sky Hawk the Tame.”

“Really?” Hartwin’s disbelief was evident. “That old song wasn’t even about war.”

“No, it wasn’t. Storm Hawk was a wanderer. He traveled from village to village and tribe to tribe. He was an outcast and no tribe would have him. You see, they thought him a coward for he would never fight. He said he had no reason to fight. The other griffins thought this meant he didn’t love his tribe or his people. So they shunned him. But they were wrong. It wasn’t that he had no love in his heart but that he loved all his people so fiercely that he couldn’t bear to harm a single one.

“And so, Storm Hawk traveled the land. He never really had a home so he considered the entire world his home. If he grew hungry, he ate. If he grew thirsty, he drank. If he grew tired, he slept. It was in this way he came to a village in the high mountains. There he ate, he drank, and the slept as he was want to do. The villagers did not like him however. They, like all the others, thought him a coward. So, they chased him from their home.

“But as this gentle griffin left, a dragon of fire and smoke descended on village to demand tribute. This village was small, however, and could not feed the greed of such a beast for long. So the village selected its three greatest warriors and together they flew to battle the beast. And it is together that the beast swallowed them whole.

“Oh how the village cried, ‘There is no one left to save us! Surely, we shall be gobbled up by the dragon!’

“It was then that a voice called out from their midst. ‘I will save you!’ cried the voice.

“The villagers turned to find once again amongst them Storm Hawk the Tame. They could not believe that such a coward could save them and so the chased him from their village once again. But Storm Hawk did not leave. He hid outside the village in the mountains that were as much his home as any village.

“He waited until the day the dragon returned for his tribute. Before it could enter the village, Storm Hawk called out to the dragon. He challenged the dragon. Storm Hawk drew a line in the earth and challenged the dragon to cross it. If the dragon dared to cross the line, he would allow the dragon to devour himself and the village without resistance. If the dragon failed to cross the however, it would leave and never return. 

“The dragon accepted the challenge. So, Storm Hawk planted a stick upright in the earth just behind the line and tied a pinecone to it with a piece of twine. This confused the dragon. He knew no sorcery of this type but he also knew he didn’t know all the sorcery of the world. The dragon paused and doubt was planted in the dragon’s heart. From this doubt grew terrible fear. This fear grew to panic and so the dragon fled.

“When the villagers asked Storm Hawk what kind of sorcery did he use, he replied, ‘No sorcery. Only scarecrow.’ And so Storm Hawk is celebrated and welcomed into any village he enters no matter the tribe. No longer is he thought a coward but a hero among heroes.”

The sun had long set as Saxa finished her story and she grew silent.

“I don’t understand,” admitted Hartwin, “What does that have to do with you continuing to fight in battles that are wrong.”

“I fight because it means others don’t,” she replied softly, “If I’m out there, gentle souls like you aren’t. Fat lot of good that did though, right?”

“I guess,” Hartwin sighed, “It’s a better reason that my brother fight for.”

“Hartwin,” Saxa looked at him, “Your brother was a good griffin once, you know. He’s just lost his way. But he doesn’t need your blame. He needs your help. Make him see that war isn’t the path to glory.”

“How?” Hartwin asked returning her gaze.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “You’re going to have to figure that out yourself.”

“I-I can’t do it again, Saxa,” Hartwin could feel tears in his eyes. He turned away so she wouldn’t see.

“You don’t have to,” Saxa whispered. “No one can make you fight. Not even your brother.”

“You don’t think me a coward?”

“Don’t mistake kindness for cowardice,” she stood, “I need to get back to the village. I have watch soon.”

“I think I need to stay out here and think some more.”

To Hartwin’s honest surprise, Saxa nuzzled him affectionately before turning to leave, “Try not to think too hard, feather-brain, you might hurt yourself.

Maybe Hartwin could do this after all. Maybe he could help his people even if they didn’t want help. If he could do that, then maybe the ache in his heart would be lessened some fraction. If he could save his friends and family from this terrible fate, then maybe, just maybe, he could stop hating himself so much. Maybe.

There is one certainty. If he is does succeed, it will by his own path, not the path of his brother. He would not kill again, no matter the cost. For to kill, the cost is too high.

Hartwin took the bow and quiver of arrows from under him and held them a moment. Such sorrow these can create, he thought. So, with a flap of his wings and a mighty heave, Hartwin threw the bow and arrows as far into the night as he could.

With a final thought, he turned and flew to his nest amongst those he cared most for in this world. “Never again.”


The End