//------------------------------//
// Chapter 19 - A Rock and a Hard Place 
// Story: Bad Mondays 
// by Handyman 
//------------------------------//

 “So… Here’s the situation right?” Tanismore said between beakfulls. The two of them had found a relatively nice restaurant in the market quarter of Ifrendare. The pub had turned out to be a terrible idea, Handy discovered. It was one thing to be offered drinks by random griffons off the street, it’s another thing when the barkeep offered to virtually throw the entire barrel of ale at you while everyone else swarmed you. Drunk griffons were an inherently funny concept, but the reality was rather a lot to contend with personally. Handy only wanted a meal and a quiet drink. “Me and Godfrey go to this shindig in Densdun, some big party organised by a pony, right?” he continued.

“I believe thou hast told me this before, but go on,” Handy responded. They were both seated on a second floor miranda overlooking the market. Handy’s senses were assaulted with the smells and sounds of a city virtually shivering with life as the griffons haggled and bargained below them while others made use of the various shops and eateries around the great square fountain that acted as the centrepiece. He looked over the railings, taking note of the unusual number of ponies in the crowd. He knew there were large crossover populations between the two kingdoms in border provinces. Ifrendare, he learned, was an anomaly in this respect. 

The only thing linking the Duchy of Farlkirk to Equestria was a tiny dirt trail squeezed between a mountain and a large ravine, the trail only ending in some nameless pony village that nobody really cared about. Ifrendare was firmly on the Griffonia side of the duchy and as far away from the connection as it was possible to be without being in another duchy altogether. He took a drink from the glass he had. Sure, it was wine and sure, it was kinda early and sure, he was technically on duty, but Handy was quickly running out of fucks that day.

“Right, so, it was a big event. Can't remember the host's name for the life of me... a lot of cheese though... Doesn't matter, the two of us run into this absolute genius of a dog, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“He proceeds to ask us for our tickets.”

“Right.”

“Even though we had already shown our tickets at the door, so of course we explain this to him, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. So Godfrey calls over this griffon wearing a similar shirt, thinking he was his superior, so…”

Handy tuned him out, using automatic responses at appropriate intervals. The two of them had their helmets off as they ate. Handy ordered his meat bloody raw, barely heated, much to his distaste, being a medium-to-well man himself. However, it was the least suspicious way of saying ‘Give me blood, damnit’. The consumption of the fluid the night before and whatever he had left in his system had been used entirely to heal his hand, leaving him uncomfortably aware of just how close many griffons’ arteries were for his easy access since he entered the town. It wasn’t bad, far from it, but he wasn’t daring to make the mistake of leaving it alone. The meat helped, partially, but he’d need to get something substantive soon.

His gaze turned back to the street as he people watched. His eyes narrowed as he saw something genuinely odd. He hadn’t paid any mind to the numerous instances of clip-clop noises emerging from the crowd, given the ponies present. But he certainly took notice when it came from one that had a distinctly avian head. Looking closely, he noticed a small griffon, young in appearance as it walked back from a stall. Its foreclaws were present and upper body leonine, but its head was aquiline... and its lower body was distinctly equine. 

Handy cocked an eyebrow as his eyes widened. That was something he had not expected to see today. The strange hybrid griffon, an oxymoron if ever there was one, made its way over to a larger griffon and handed him a bag that he had apparently purchased from the stall keeper. The larger griffon ruffled the feathers on its head as he beckoned it to follow him up the street.

Handy simply stared after them, gears turning in his head at the implications. Tanismore, thankfully, was lost in his ramblings and had not noticed the human’s distracted look. He opened his mouth, preparing to ask Tanismore about what he just saw but remembered the lesson he had learned regarding certain princesses and certain celestial bodies. After some time, he shook his head and turned back to his meal. Sometimes, it was certainly better to keep one's mouth shut and be thought wise rather than open it and be confirmed a fool. Ponies came in multiple varieties, he reasoned, maybe griffons did too?

Hell, there was that one griffon he saw that had the lower body of a panther, or so he thought. It was hard for him to tell; big cats weren’t one of his favourite animals after all. Horses, however? That was unexpected. “…Of course, Sergeant Killjoy had to arrive just when it was getting good. The pony had just broken out an accordion while balancing on a large ball and was preparing for the showstopper.” Tanismore huffed, his armour clinking as he crossed his forelegs.

“Killjoy?” Handy asked, plopping the last cut of meat into his mouth and washing it down.

“Shortbeak.”

“Ah. Right,” Handy said. "What was she doing there?" he asked. Shortbeak was no recluse like him as far as he knew, but the party Tanis had described didn't seem her kind of thing. 

"Tartarus if I know, but there she was. Anyway—" 

"Uh, I uh..." The two of them turned. An adolescent griffon, complete with moulting feathers and nervous expression, had made his way over to their table. His wings were short for his size, and he had an odd beak. Now that Handy looked at it, he didn't quite have an eagle's head, but he couldn't tell what other type of bird it might have been. He rolled his eyes and spoke to the bird.

"Can we be of service, sir...?" Handy said, Tanismore frowned at the interruption. This was probably the fourth or fifth bird who had approached him, completely star struck over the hour or so they’ve been here.

"Shorttail!" he said sharply. "Timothy Shorttail, I mean, uhm, sir!" The grey feathered griffon sat rigidly to the spot. Handy took a glance, noting his tail was actually abnormally long. "I don't mean to interrupt, b-but are you Handy the human?" he asked hopefully. Handy raised an eyebrow at him before sighing. He leaned back in his chair, which, like everything else, was too short for him and had improper lumbar support, forcing him to either spread his legs out or cross them in on himself beneath the chair. He made a show of looking around slowly, a curious expression on his face. Tanismore smirked.

"Hmm..." He began. "I am unsure..." He turned back to Shorttail. "I don't see any humans around. Methinks, perchance, he's not here. Perhaps thou art mistaken?" he asked innocently. Tanismore coughed down a chuckle. Shorttail looked embarrassed. Handy allowed himself a smile before continuing. "I jest. I am he. How can I help thee, sir Shorttail?" Timothy rubbed the back of his head before responding.

"W-well, I just want to say it’s an honour to meet you."

"It... is?" Handy asked.

"It is?" Tanismore echoed with an amused grin.

"It is!" Shorttail confirmed. "My cousin was on the Equestrian Express!" he said excitedly, "He was there when you gave Tartarus to the guardsponies who attacked everygriffon! And then you went on and overthrew Geoffrey!"

"I uh..." Handy said, realising griffons were now turning in their seats, listening in. "I merely fought on his majesty's behalf, twas really—"

"Oh! And is it true you fought a minotaur with one arm tied behind your back?" Shorttail asked.

"I heard it was two minotaurs!" a griffon from another table piped up.

"Don't be ridiculous. Everygriffon knows it was a basilisk," yet another griffon spoke, clearly grateful somegriffon had finally got the human talking so openly. The last couple had walked up to him and skulked away almost without talking to the human.

"No, you're thinking of the dragon."

"Didn't he conquer the changelings at the same time?"

"I forget, wasn't that the thing in Canterlot where he shouted down a princess?"

"No no, he fought the Elements! That’s why the prince is dueling him!"

"Hey, Handy, tell us about the time you fought a tornado!"

"Don't be stupid, it was an elemental!"

"Then why is he called the Stormbreaker if he was just fighting more ponies?"

"Not those! An actual living storm elemental"

"I heard it was a small one."

"Well, it was only a model…"

Handy let out a beleaguered breath. It had been so nice and quiet before, the griffons keeping their hushed whispers to themselves, and Timothy O'Chucklefuck here had to go ahead and start the ball rolling. It was a radical change from the treatment he received in Skymount. At first he didn't like it, but he supposed it was good to not be the subject of nightmares for once. He let the surrounding griffons continue the lathering as he spoke to Timothy, "It seems our luncheon is at an end," he announced. Tanismore gawked at him.

"Awwww, come on!" the griffon protested, spreading claw wide.

"Thou hast finished thine meal an hour ago and have been getting steadily drunk on refills."

"You had second helpings!"

"And now mine helpings have been thoroughly seconded." Handy gestured at his empty plate. "Also thou art paying."

"What? Why me?"

"Because I neglected to bring money with me," he lied. "Now get." Tanismore grumbled as he slid off his chair, fumbling at a pouch by the waist of his armour. Handy downed the last of his glass, letting out a satisfied breath and minding both of their helmets until the bird got back. There was no way he was getting up to pay and running the risk of getting encircled. At least where he was, if push came to shove, he could vault over the side and take his chances with the near ten foot drop to the ground. Risky, in armour, but he's done more idiotic shit in his time and came out smelling like... Well, he came out alive anyway.

The clicking of claws drew him back to reality, and he turned from once more looking over the town around him. The young griffon was still there, looking expectantly at Handy, tapping the approximate index talons griffon claws possessed together. He resisted the urge to frown and remembered the griffon's question. Well, why not blow up his reputation a bit more? "Yes, with one arm, you assume correctly, young Timothy," he said. The bird beamed and took Tanismore's seat. 'That... wasn't an invitation,' he thought. 'Opportunistic little git, aren't you?' "Can I be of further assistance?" he asked, letting a slight edge of irritation enter his voice. Timothy didn't seem to take the hint.

"Oh I was just wondering..." he said, "I was trying to figure out why you came all the way down here. I mean, you caused a scene when you were confronted by the Duke's knights.” Handy nodded. Brightblade, the knight's name had been. He mentally reordered his shitlist to pencil in that name in the place of noname mcfuckface who had not been as gracious in defeat as he could have been. His screeching and bluster was for naught. Handy had not moved, and in the end, the griffon dared not raise his glaive against him. More than a few griffons took notice of the situation. "So what brings you all the way down to Ifrendare?"

'How about none of your damn business you nosey little shit?' Handy thought, thoroughly annoyed at the griffon. "Important business with his Grace and the lord Count," the human replied, not willing to give the bird the satisfaction of the truth. There was also the matter that his real reason for being here was now rendered rather pointless. There was no sense spreading it around. "A procedural concern on behalf of his Majesty." The elated look on Shorttail's face fell slightly.

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "I thought you were going to do something..."

"Why wouldst thou think that?" he asked. The griffon looked sheepishly at the human.

"Well, there is some talk about weird things happening at a village several miles away, Featherdawn," he said. Handy felt the need to rub his forehead.

"Oh really?" 'Oh. Really.'

"Yeah, it’s the strangest thing..." the griffon began, screwing his face upwards, tapping the side of his beak. “I mean, there’s always been rumours that a farm there had been haunted, but recently, griffons have been talking…”

“About what?” Handy said, feigning interest, wondering what the hell was taking Tanismore so long. He needed a patsy to help push through the inevitable throng.

“About the strange lights and sounds at all hours of the day and night. Something strange and magical is happening there, and nogriffon dares venturing there to find out.”

’All day as well as night?’ Handy thought. ’That’s different. So its not some prowler fucking about in the night. Either the griffon is ballsy or its something else entirely.’ ”Interesting.” He decided to say, “But it really is the duke’s concern, and that of the count.”

“But, isn’t that what you do?” Timothy said, his claws were on the table as he leaned forward.

“Do?”

“You go and sort out weird problems, just like this!”

“Er…”

“Hey yeah!” another griffon said. One after another, more griffons piled nearer to the table, each one pestering Handy about his past ‘achievements’ and enquiring curiously about the situation Shorttail had illuminated. Some of them sounded genuinely curious, having not heard about the events in question. Apparently, for all the count’s bluster, he kept it at the court level, not spreading it among the people and causing a panic. Handy mused that maybe the old bird wasn’t entirely incompetent but quickly dismissed such charity, for he was now trapped.

“So, will you go?” Timothy pressed. Handy placed his helmet back on, his expression furious. The griffons surrounding him made it difficult for him to get up off his chair for his planned emergency escape.

“I do not believe it to be… appropriate...” he said, trying to worm his way out of this without coming off and sundering his reputation. He glanced to his right and down to the street. Several griffons and ponies had stopped their business and were looking up at the commotion. Crap. “I do not know where the village in question is…” he offered. ’For fuck’s sake, this is so not my problem.’ 

“Oh! I know where it is!” Timothy said, planting his claws on the table and pushing himself up. “I could show you!”

“…Could you now?” Handy said, teeth gritted.

“Yes! If you’d let me go with you, I’ll show you the way there! Then you can do something cool!”

‘Are you fucking kidding me!’ Handy thought. ’It’s fucking Grave Danger all over again, isn’t it?’ ”That would be… most helpful,” Handy said, now cursing Tanismore’s tardiness profusely. It most certainly was not Handy’s own fault for walking right into this situation and giving in to the temptation of tooting his own horn, nope. Tanis’ fault. Definitely. “I believe I shall go,” the griffons erupted in a cheer, half of them wandering off, chatting excitedly about whatever the human could end up facing out in the mysterious village. 

If Handy were a superstitious man, and when he was younger he most certainly was, he’d equate ‘mysterious village in the middle of the sticks with tall tales told of its terrible hauntings’ with witchery and general bad luck. Now he was a sensible and reasonable adult and in a world that consisted of witchery and bad luck, so he just marked it down as terribly pedestrian when all things were considered.

Tanismore finally materialized as the crowd thinned and Handy got up from his seat. “Sorry I took so long. They took forever getting the change, and there were a lot of griffons in the way.” He looked up at Handy as he prepared to leave, walking passed the griffon. “Hey, where you going?” he said as he rushed to get his helmet, taking note of the young griffon who had just vacated his seat. “And what—”

“Tanis, I need thee to stay here in the town,” Handy said as he descended the steps into the ground floor of the busy restaurant.

“Wait, you’re going back to Skymount without me?” Tanismore said, surprised.

“Of course not. I’m going out to investigate the town of Featherdawn,” he said. Tanismore looked at the back of Handy’s head quizzically as he followed him down the stairs.

“I thought you said it was a w—”

“Wonderful opportunity, yes,” Handy interjected, noticing Shorttail pick up on Tanis’ words. “I need you to stay here to stop the duke from leaving.”

“But how can I do that?” Tanis asked, Handy shrugged.

“Say I deputised you or something. Just make sure the duke doesn’t leave till I get back.” ’I’ll be having words with him, on the off chance daddy dearest’s old farm actually has more to it than some unicorns throwing regular keggers,’ he mused. The thought seemed plausible, given that no actual harm seemed to come from the magical shenanigans.

“H-hang on, you can’t just- I mean, can you?” Tanismore asked as the pair made it out onto the street. Handy put his hood back up before he blinded someone. He looked back at the griffon.

“Yes,” he lied. Honestly, he was not sure if he could authorize that, but hell, what’s having power if you’re not going to use it creatively? “Just don’t cause any trouble, alright?”

“Me? Trouble? Pfffft,” Tanismore said, waving a claw. Handy just glared at him from behind his metal helm. “Oh fine.”

“And stay sober; you’re on my dime now.”

“Oh like you’re one to talk.”

“I mean it Tanis,” Handy warned. He turned to Shorttail beside him. “Right, lead on.” Timothy beamed widely, and Handy groaned internally. He led Handy through the winding streets of the town until they reached the westernmost Gate. Tanismore had followed Handy uncertainly for a time, not entirely sure where he was supposed to be going until he decided to turn back to the keep. Handy hoped Tanismore would take himself seriously. Although in truth, he had sincere doubts about that.


--=--


Thankfully, Handy thought, a few miles genuinely seemed to only mean a few miles as the pair of them moved out from the city, passing large grass fields and hills as far as the eye could see. Cresting the border of the valley and leaving the town behind them, walking down the far side of the hill. It took them an hour or two of solid walking, to Handy’s displeasure, but he could make out the outline of a small village ahead of them, nestled between several hills and beside some woods, something he was grateful to see. The skies, however, had been darkening with increasingly angry looking clouds, looking like a storm was brewing. He could smell rain on the wind.

Timothy, of course, was prattling on about his home and family, which Handy paid zero attention to, instead contemplating nearby ditches and entertaining the likelihood of anyone finding his body and tracing it back to him. He smiled; he’d never do it of course, he wasn’t quite pissed off enough at the bird to seriously consider cold blooded murder. Still, it simply wouldn’t do to not have such considerations tucked away for future reference. You never know, after all.

They entered the village, and Handy was greeted with the same superstition and suspicion that he thought he had missed, complete with similar reactions. Oh sure, ghostly lights and noises emerge from a nearby farm and these guys try their best to continue life as normal, but when the nigh-mythical human strolls into town, they head for the hills? Racists. 

One elderly griffon, clutching a broom, stayed out in the open, sweeping the front of his store. Handy looked at Timothy who seemed to be oblivious to the reactions of the griffons who had gone and went inside, making a ghost town of the village. He was lost in his own ramblings and continued strolling on to the end of the town. Handy separated from him and approached the old griffon.

He was a white feathered bird with an abnormally long yellow beak, grey feathers growing down his cheeks and half rimmed spectacles balanced across the beak’s bridge. His brown wings and fur were patchy in places, and he wore green overalls across his front, an odd sight on a griffon. The bird turned to regard the human as he approached with an almost bored expression. “Help ya, strangah?” he asked. Handy smiled.

“My apologies for the disruption I have caused thine neighbours,” Handy said, turning his head around, indicating the vacated village. The old bird continued to regard the human impassively.

“Oh mind them none, bunch of scaredy ponies, the lot of them,” the old man said as he continued to sweep. “I take it yer here about the fuss n’a the farm?” he asked. Handy nodded.

’Straight to the point, I like this guy.’ “That I am. How didst thou guess?”

“Why else would th’ human come here?” he said.

“I see. You are correct. I am here as a favour to the count and the duke.”

“Doncha work for th’ king?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Handy raised his own eyebrow in response.

’Sharp one, aren’t you? But I suppose it’s no secret.’ “Yes, but I was here on business when the count asked this of me,” he said. “Terribly sorry to trouble you, kind sir, but I am afraid I must ask a few questions of thee.” The bird seemed to chew, rotating his lower beak before spitting onto the ground beyond the boards of his shop front.

“Alrigh’,” he assented.

“Have you heard strange things coming from the farm,” Handy resigned himself to going through the list of questions based on what he knew. At least when Joachim got his laugh, he could say he was thorough at least.

“Sure ‘ave.”

“Like what?”

“Weird high pitched noises, then occasionally large thump o’ earth as if someone dropped a bouldah from th’ sky. Happens all times o’ day,” he said, rubbing the base of his beak in contemplation. “Bright lights too, from time to time. Most of the time just noise.”

“Any of the fine folk here ever investigate the farm?” he asked. Shorttail was still calmly walking to the edge of the village, fully believing Handy was there behind him.

“These ponies? Pfffnaw, none ‘em ever dared gawn up there.”

“Where is the farm?” Handy asked.

“Over there, beyond yonder trees there…” The old griffon pointed roughly to where Timothy was heading. Handy heard distant thunder, droplets of rain dropping on the ground. “Sure you want to investigate in that, strangah?” the old griffon asked, looking up into the sky, trying to discern what weather teams were up there. Handy had long since not bothered to look up when the weather acted up, preferring not to be reminded of the nonsense of a weather system that necessitated sapient intervention in order to function.

“Sooner I get this over with, the sooner we can all rest easy at night,” Handy said. The griffon nodded, clearly misinterpreting the human’s statement when all he meant was returning to his comfy bed. “Ever see anyone… suspicious?”

“About these parts? None much, nope,” the griffon responded. “Featherdawn’s a right sleepy little town,” he continued.

“So no new griffons to the village in the past few weeks? Ponies, Unicorns perhaps?”

“None by my reckonin’”

“Ever been up to the farm itself?”

“Nope.”

“Why?

“’Aunted,” the old griffon said simply, closing his eyes as he nodded firmly. Handy blinked.

“But you just called your neighbours scaredy ponies for not going up there.”

“S’right I did,” the griffon responded, puffing out his chest. “Silly to be scared o’ few lights and weird noises, s’obviously magic.”

“But you say it’s haunted…”

“That it is, always was, ‘m none much for ghosts, y’see,” the griffon said as if that was supposed to make sense. Handy wanted to rub his temples, but there was metal in the way.

“Okay, what do you know about its previous owners?”

“Went on to become th’ dukes,” he said simply.

“… Okay, but was it haunted before or after they left?”

“Way I heard it, twas the reason they left. Certainly the reason the Kinblades left it after they bought it. Only staid in town a while before getting th’ willies and seeing sense enough to leave,” he explained. Handy sighed softly. Shorttail turned and extended his right paw and wing in a flourish, smiling brightly at the edge of the village. He opened his eyes, saw the human wasn’t there, and his head snapped back and forth, searching for him.

“So, just to confirm, there’s magic up in the farm?”

“Correct.”

“And you say you saw nobody suspicious in recent weeks, no one else heard about a suspicious character?

“Nope.”

“Also it’s haunted.”

“S’truth.”

“And the current duke’s family used to own it?”

“S’right.”

“Right,” Handy said, still no further than he was before. “My thanks for thine help, good sir. You have been most helpful,” Handy said, inclining his head.

“Not a problem. Good luck up there, stranger,” the griffon said, sweeping his store front one final time before placing a claw on his hip and surveying his work. The rain was falling a bit more insistently now as he turned away from the store and met Shorttail halfway to the village edge.

“Sir Handy,” he greeted, “I was wondering where you got off to.”

“Just asking a local about the farm is all. Come on,” Handy said, now thoroughly grateful for his cloak keeping the water mostly off his armour. He closed all three of the clasps of his cloak to close it tighter over his body as the wind seemed to pick up. The pair of them followed the trail leading out of the village and into the woods. Well, in truth, it was more akin to an orchard, but one that had long since fallen to neglect. 

They eventually heard a river ahead and came upon a small, ancient, decrepit looking wooden bridge. ’Oh yeah,’Handy said, stopping just before the structure, judging it and looking down at himself. He looked down at the river below. It cut deep into the earth and was flowing relatively fast. He looked up as water fell upon the face of his helm. The wind was picking up strength, and the rain was falling harder and faster. ’This looks legit.’ 

“Shorttail,” he commanded, the bird looking up at him. “Don’t use the bridge until I cross,” Handy warned, not trusting the bridge to support both their weight at once. He fumbled under his cloak and detached his hammer and his travel pack. He swung them across the bridge to the other side, one at a time, lessening the amount of weight he could easily part with. He struggled to take the shield off from where it was strapped to his back, a difficult thing to do with his cloak on, but he managed it, tossing it along with his helmet across. He came to the bridge and put the majority of his weight on the right side, which looked much more structurally sound.

The wood groaned under him as he shimmied across, gripping on to the wooden handrails as he moved across. Thankfully, he made it across without needing to worry about falling into yet another rapidly flowing river. He bent over to pick up his gear and replace it about his person. It was then he heard a loud crack and he looked up, turning around to see a startled looking Shorttail, who was halfway across the bridge when his claw pushed down on a particularly weak plank of wood and pushed straight through. 

He looked up at Handy, wide eyed as the bridge groaned dangerously. There was another crack, and the bridge seemed to lean dangerously to the side. Handy rushed over, Shorttail trying to lunge the last stretch of the bridge. It would’ve been enough had he only been slightly larger in reach. The bridge literally fell away beneath him, literally, just as he jumped.

Handy was two feet from the edge and ran over and reached out to the griffon, grasping his claw as he fell, slamming hard into the rock face of the ravine, the wood falling and washing away. “HELP!” he squawked. “OH ALL MAKER, I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

“Timothy,” Handy said, anger rising in his voice.

“PULL ME UP, PULL ME UP, PULLMEUPPULLMEUPPULLMEUP!”

“Timothy!”

“OH CLAW I LOOKED DOWN, WHY DID I LOOK DOWN!?”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP YOU DAMN BIRD! YOU HAVE WINGS, USE THEM!” Handy bellowed. His arm hung over the edge of the ravine, the deadweight of the griffon falling, and Handy’s own, less than ideal position when he gripped the bird’s foreleg forcing him to a prone position as the bird panicked. Timothy looked up at the human, blinking rapidly before looking to his sides and flapping his wings experimentally.

“Oh,” he said as he lifted himself into the air, struggling slightly in the wind before alighting on the ground next to the human. “Right… Ah… You won’t mention this to anygriffon, will you?”

“No.” Handy said, genuinely meaning it, considering the fact he would rather forget about the griffon altogether and telling people about this situation would only perpetuate the bird’s longevity in the vaults of his memories. “Look, let’s just… get to the farm.” Handy thought for a minute. “Actually, now that I consider it, thou hast done as I asked, thou should probably just go back to the town,” Handy said, Shorttail looked genuinely hurt.

”I’m sorry!” He said, “I’m sorry! I can be useful! You don’t need to worry about me!”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“No! Really! Look! I swear!” The bird put a claw over his heart “I’ll not get in your way; just let me come with you! Please!?” he begged. Handy looked at him, unamused, then glanced back at the now non-existent bridge.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I might need thine help finding another way around on the way back.” He shifted his weight and reaffixed the clasps of his cloak, putting his helmet back on and hood up. “Come.” He turned back down the path and continued to the farm. Shorttail let out a sigh of relief as he followed after the human. Handy grumbled under his breath, his mood thoroughly in the gutter now. The pair came upon the old farmstead as the tree thinned. Young saplings encroached past the decaying fenceposts, long neglected over the years. 

The farmhouse was extensive and was surrounded with numerous outbuildings. Its windows were knocked in, a portion of the roof collapsed and the ivy making good headway on its glacially paced vertical conquest of its walls. Handy could see why the locals might consider the place spooky, for there was a forlorn air of mystery about the place. Handy was well familiar with such melancholic sites; it wasn’t haunted, he could tell that much just by looking. What most people called haunted, people around his hometown called culture.

However, the farm buildings weren’t what caught his attention. No, that would be the hundred or so griffon sized holes in the grounds. Practically every inch of the farm ground had these freshly dug shallow graves strewn haphazardly about the place. He could see why someone would put magic lights, strange sounds and these holes together and draw the worst conclusion as the good count had. The two of them parted as Handy went to work, inspecting the holes and the farm buildings, Timothy, thankfully, left the human in peace after he suggested that the bird go explore the outbuildings for him.

He knelt next to one of the holes and kneaded it in the centre with his fist. He found the soil gave way quite easily, allowing him to bury his arm nearly up to the elbow before forcing him to stop. He withdrew his fist and took note of the blackened clumps of soil that he drew out of the ground. He lifted one up to his face. It was strangely shaped and glassy in texture. Handy failed his chemistry and did poorly in geology, but he is pretty sure something like that shouldn’t be this close to the surface on a farm. 

From what he knew, it took extreme heat to force silicon into glass. Whatever magic was being used here evidently was designed to create this substance, or it was a consequence of the action. He probably should’ve dragged Crimson with him. She’d probably have helped him with this. He tried a few more holes and discovered similar examples of the substance in each of them. Always in small clumps.

Thankfully no bones, or any other evidence of these holes being graves. Several outbuildings appeared to be collapsed, a little investigating revealed more holes beneath rotten and rusted tools and destroyed planks. He had thought someone came here and decided to use the ground as target practice for some reason, but the spread of the destruction from the ruined sheds indicated that the magical blast didn’t come from outside. 

It’s as if… it shot up from the ground. A ground that wasn’t covered in holes or debris had large, dirty rocks strewn about, strange greenish quartz embedded in them. Odd. “The hell am I doing here?” he asked himself. “I don’t know the first thing about magic.” He turned and tried to search for Shorttail, walking up to the farmhouse.

The house itself was nothing special, creaking and groaning under its own weight as the growing storm punished the building. The rooms were empty, unfortunately, but he checked it out anyway. There were more holes here, but they were smaller, having to push through rock and solid foundations rather than soil. But it did prove interesting, for the holes went straight down to the very rock the house was founded on and went considerably deeper than the holes outside. Looking down the hole had collapsed in on itself, he was soon drawing the conclusion whatever was causing the holes actually did originate underground.

He crouched beneath one such hole near the back of the house, now becoming interested despite himself. ‘If what’s causing these holes is coming from below… Then wha-‘ His thoughts were interrupted by a crack of lightning in the distance. He looked up at the flash and saw the backyard of the farmstead. 

There was a large, sturdy looking well, the rocks forming its circular framed interspersed with large, dull, green stones. A fairly solid looking, wooden wellhead hung above it, He saw Shorttail leaning over and looking down the well, his claw reaching out to grab onto the bucket for balance as he looked over. Handy gawped at the stupidity of the action.  “Timothy!” he shouted out as he got to his feet, the bird looking over. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Just looking down the well, I want to know why there are no holes around it.” Now that it was pointed out to him, Handy noticed there were indeed no holes within a ten foot radius of the well. He shook his head.

“Right, but get back down from there.” He walked over to the well himself. “You’re holding onto the bucket, if it gives way-”

“Its alright!” Timothy said in response, leaning further. “I’ll be careful.” He reached over with his free claw, gripping the wooden pole the rope of the bucket was wrapped around. “Tartarus that’s far down…” he muttered. “Hey, Handy, what do you think all these-” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. The bucket gave way under his weight, the rusted gear, long since seized up, surrendered under the pressure building up upon it, and Timothy Shorttail plummeted down the well with a yelp. Handy’s eyes widened as he ran towards it.

“SHORTTAIL!” he shouted, griping the edge of the well and looked over. He heard the struggling voice of the griffon descend down into the darkness and the sound of rushing water, a splash echoing up the length of the well. “SHORTTAIL! CAN YOU HEAR ME!?” he bellowed down the well. There was nothing but the sound of the wind and the rain, distant rumbles in the sky and the rush of distant water far beneath him. At first.

“I’m… I’m alright…” a weak voice responded, barely audible. Handy’s heart rate slowed and the concern he felt for the griffon was slowly consumed by mounting anger that the griffon had, once more, gone and gotten himself into trouble because he was being inattentive!

“I TOLD YOU TO BACK AWAY!” he shouted down. Fuming. As angry as he was, he struggled to remind himself that there’d be time for that later. Right now, Shorttail was stuck at the bottom of the well. “LOOK, CAN YOU FLY UP?” he shouted down. There was another pause before a response came up.

“I don’t… I don’t think so…” Shorttail responded. Handy thought he could detect his voice crack. “I think I hurt my wing… My arm h-hurts as well…” he said. Handy clenched his fist and hit the wall impotently. He looked up at the wellhead. The rope the bucket had been attached to, had run its course entirely. Shorttail’s weight and momentum snapped it off of where it was tied to the pole. There goes guiding him up the rope. But that plan was shot as well. If his arm was busted, he wouldn’t be able to climb. He ground his teeth in frustration, the day already quickly deteriorating.

“ALRIGHT HOLD ON!” he shouted down. ’Fucking idiot,’ he cursed internally as he whirled around, looking about the farm ruins. He didn’t know how to get across the ravine to get help now that the bridge was out. It might take him a long time, and he’d be leaving Timothy down there. He turned and glared at the wellhead, gears turning in his head, chewing the inside of his mouth. He gripped the wooden frame and shook it. It barely moved, but he was not going to try anything unless he was absolutely sure. 

He took a few steps back and ran up and kicked it. Not easy to do in greaves. Nothing, the frame was solid. Good. He gripped the pole that had been the host of the rope and bucket. It bent alarmingly under his strength. He grimaced. Rushing off, he searched the outbuildings of the farm. There had to be something there he could use, anything. He let out a victorious shout when he found one of the things he was looking for in one of the larger, more intact sheds: a solid metal pole.

The storm increased in intensity outside, the wind causing the shed door to slam shut again and again. He gathered the pole under his arm as he rummaged through the boxes of tools and long forgotten resources for the maintenance of a farm. There had to- aha! Handy rolled up a bundle of rope over and around his elbow and fist, so he could carry it easily. There were several coils in this one box alone, but they were a tangled mess. He placed the one bundled coil he had sorted on the floor as he thought hard. He lifted up one end of the rope and looked outside at the well.
It had been years since he tied a proper knot. He hoped it’d hold.


--=--


Shorttail clung weakly onto a rock as he pulled himself out of the water, whimpering. His wing hurt and he shivered, soaked to the bone, and in pain, he cried. He managed to drag himself out of the water at the base of the well. It had been deep, which softened his fall somewhat, but not enough. He fumbled in the darkness, his eyes bleary from when he hit his head. Handy had shouted down to him, but he hadn’t heard from the human in a while. Hopefully, he went off to get help.

He breathed heavily, listening to the sound of rushing water as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The only source of light shone down from the well high above him. There was nothing but darkness and rock and water all around him. He saw the pool he had landed in and the flow of water emerging from high up on one of the walls, a torrent pouring into the room. 

The sound was near deafening. He blinked. What little light there was seemed to darken, and he shivered with the cold. “All-Maker…” he murmured desperately, scrunching his eyes shut. His injured right wing twitching as muscles spasmed, and he groaned in pain at the movement.

He heard something splash lightly in the water behind him and turned his head towards the noise. “Hey!” His eyes sprung open at the sound of the voice. “Where are you?” The human was now at the bottom of the well, standing in the roiling water. The human was untangling himself from some strange raiment of ropes. He splashed in the water as he nearly lost his footing under the waters.

“I… I’m over here,” Shorttail said weakly. He shifted, the small, wet stones shifted underneath him as he gripped a large rock to pull himself forward.

“Hang on!” Handy said. The human seemed to fumble with something, and the next thing Shorttail knew, there was a bright white light piercing the darkness. He raised his injured arm to shield his eyes. “There you are…” the human said, his voice audible over the sound of the water. “Hang on.”

“Wh-what… What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Getting you out,” Handy said, dropping his airs. Shorttail didn’t notice, but he picked up on the irritation in the human’s voice.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t… I should’ve listened.”

“Yes you damn well should have,” Handy admonished. The human waded through the knee high water, struggling against the flow to reach the small dry patch the griffon hung to. The contraption the human had lowered himself with hung limply inches above the water. Another free rope hanging parallel to it. In Handy’s rush to figure out a way to help the poor griffon before he died of exposure or his injuries, he had came up with, upon reflection, potentially the dumbest possible way he could have gone about it. 

Relying on half remembered lessons learned during warm summers at a local youth club, Handy started utilising the rope he found in creating a cradle. Or perhaps it was better called a basket. In either case, the rope construction wrapped around the human’s waist, upper legs and midsection, thus providing support. He then tied it to the length of rope. 

The idea was that he would wear it, and using the strong wellhead, throw the rope around a new, stronger pole and lower himself down the well. Seeing as there was no one else on the surface, the makeshift pulley relied entirely on Handy’s own strength to prevent himself from free-falling. 

He sat in the cradle as he gripped the rope and, ever so slowly, one fist placed below the other, he let the rope rise and himself lower. It was an agonizingly slow, and exhausting process. He was forced to leave his shield and travel pack on the surface to minimise the weight he carried, his arms feeling like lead, and he swore he was going to give out towards the end.

It’d dawn on Handy later that it all would have been so much easier had he taken off his cuirass and upper body armour entirely, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. Stupidity aside, at any moment, had any one of the many knots he had tied come loose, he’d have free falling down that well and be in just as sad a state of affairs as the bird. As it was, such thoughts were far from his mind. “Come on,” he said upon reaching the griffon. “I need to get you out of there.”

“How…” Shorttail said.

“Shut up!” he barked. He bent over and pulled the griffon up. He gave out a cry of pain as Handy accidentally pulled on a wounded limb before correcting his grip. He shouldered the griffon’s weight and struggled to pull him over. He was breathing heavily himself, more from exhaustion and strain than anything else. The water’s flow increased and there was a distant noise of falling rocks that echoed into the chamber. 

Handy struggled to figure out how to seat the griffon into the carriage he had jerry-rigged. He eventually settled for untying a few unnecessary rope lengths and placing the griffon across it, spreading out the ropes to support the griffon’s midsection and tied the ropes across his back to secure it. It was going to be an uncomfortable, dangerous ride, and Shorttail was struggling already. 

“Stop, fidgeting!” Handy ordered. “Stay still! And keep your good arm loose; you’re going to be hitting your head a lot if you’re not careful.”

“W-What are you going to do?” Shorttail asked. There were several cracks of thunder echoing from the storm on the surface. Water flowed into the room with increasing force, there was a crack, and Handy shone his expensive brick in its direction. Spurts of water were bursting from a nearby wall.

“You’ve got to be shitting me…” he breathed, placing the brick back into the pocket he had affixed to his armour.

“What!”

“Nevermind! Get ready!” Handy yanked on the free rope, jolting Shorttail as he was raised several inches. With grunts of effort, Handy pulled as hard and as fast as he could, pulling the griffon up and up through the well. “When you get to the top!” he shouted up, “Grab the side of the well, pull yourself out and get out and untangle yourself! tie the rope around the wellhead as best as you can. I can pull myself up!” ’I hope.’

Shorttail did not reply, but Handy saw he was using his good arm to push himself off from the walls as he moved up. So at least he was still conscious. Handy felt something shift beneath him. He looked down but didn’t stop his pulling. The water was changing direction. It still flowed the same way but there was a pronounced shift in where the water drained away. A yelp of fright drew his attention upwards, and he saw a loose strand of rope hang from the dark form of the griffon as he blocked out the light. “What!?” Handy yelled. “What is it!?”

“I think… I think the rope is coming loose!” Shorttail responded.

“Goddamnit!” he swore and pulled harder. The sooner he got the griffon to the top, the sooner he could pull himself up. His arms protested under the stress and his lungs burned with the effort. The griffon was lighter then he was and the action was substantially easier from his current position, but it was still draining.

“I did it!” the griffon eventually shouted down. Handy scowled. 

’Oh you did it?’ he thought. “Hurry up, tie the rope!” Handy bellowed up, the rope in question slowly rising from Handy’s position as Shorttail pulled it up to do as he commanded.

“R-Right!” Handy stumbled as the room shook. There was another crack, louder this time, the sound of the storm high above him resounded down into the well he was in. The room shook again, and Handy gripped onto the rope.

“Oh Bollocks…” he said fearfully. The water’s torrential flow soon increased rapidly; somewhere beneath him there was a tremendous crash and something gave way. There was a cacophonous sound as the water beneath Handy suddenly fell away, the floor along with it. Handy’s grip faltered but he held on, his weight dragging the rope down alarmingly. 

“What’s wrong?! What happened?!”

“ITS CAVING IN! HURRY UP GOD DAMMIT!” Handy near roared in order to be heard over the water that was even now, buffeting against him as it flushed into the yawning abyss beneath him. This was all too familiar…

“Hang on!” Shorttail shouted down. Hanging being the only thing Handy was capable of doing, suspending his entire weight on the rope. His legs kicked in the air beneath him.

And then he felt the sudden shift as his body dropped another few inches. His head snapped upwards, through the slit of his helmet he saw it. You see the ropes were long indeed, easily long enough to reach from the base of the well to the top. But for what Handy needed to do, they weren’t long enough as he needed enough slack to be able to gently lower himself to the bottom of the well. With enough rope left over for him to easily grasp and pull in order to get the griffon to the surface. As a result, he had to tie to rope lengths together before securing it to the carriage he had fashioned.

And it was the knot he had tied uniting the lengths that he was now looking at. Gazing in utter horror as it slowly came undone. He looked down, seeing nothing but darkness beneath him. His eyes widened in alarm at the very real prospect of death. “PULL ME UP! PULL ME UP RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” he bellowed, panicking. He felt the rope tug as the griffon tried to comply with his demands, right before it slipped a few more precious centimetres. He looked up one last time, just as the ropes undid their connection, and Handy fell away, watching the light of the well grow distant as he was lost beneath crash of water and the suffocating darkness.


--=--


He felt his fingers twitch first as he struggled back to consciousness, his ears ringing as they sent messages to his brain. The patter of cold water hitting his helmet unremittingly, the sound of the liquid hitting metal resounded. He shivered as he opened his eyes, closing them again immediately as water entered them. He shook his head, he couldn’t feel it through the numb cold. He moved slowly, achingly as he crawled out from under the small waterfall. His breathing was laboured and he grunted with the effort.

Eventually, after what felt like an hour but was in actuality mere minutes he pulled himself completely from the shallow pool he had been laying in and forced himself to roll over. The aching pain in his chest making it difficult to breath. He lay there for some time, trying to think. Eventually he moved his right arm, grasping at his side for the pocket he hoped was still there. He gripped it when he found it, his fingers, clumsy and unresponsive, fumbled at the clasp as he pulled out the brick. Holding it tightly in his hand he pressed the power button. The expensive brick shone brilliantly and he immediately closed his eyes.

He shone around him, he was in a cave with no visible ceiling, just darkness. The pool he had pulled himself from was at the base of an incredibly steep slope with rocky protrusions. He heard the sound of fast flowing water echo somewhere distant and he groaned as he recollected his memory of recent events.

Eventually, he pulled himself up as the numbness receded slowly and warm blood once more flowed freely in the capillaries at his extremities. Once more, for an uncounted time, he thanked God for Heat Source and her craftsmanship, for his head swam and he felt a sharp stabbing sensation in his chest. Something, somewhere in there, was broken. He evidently had taken quite a battering during his fall, had it not been for his armour, he’d have been dead. “I guess…” He rasped, coughing out water and shivering with the chill. “I guess not all ponies are bad…”

He rose from his seated position, stumbling to his feet, the reassuring and familiar weight of his warhammer hung at his side. Everything hurt, absolutely everything and every step was an effort. Looking around him once more, he took a few more shuddering breaths, his head swam. He wanted to be angry, but was just too wrecked to summon the effort to care. There was nothing to do about it other than to try to find a way out of the cave.

Using the brick as a light source, thankful, for once, for its stubborn refusal to turn off, he started walking. He followed the cave, once or twice coming to branches, trying his best to head in an upwards direction. It was slow going and Handy was unsure exactly how long he spent traveling, but as he went, his thoughts became clearer and he considered the circumstances that led him here.

Hope. What was the bloody point? Look where that got him, on a foolish venture and at the bottom of the arse end of nowhere after trying to save an idiot from his own well deserved fate. His mood became increasingly foul as he dwelt on the thought. What was he even fighting for, really? Money? Fame? Certainly wasn’t ideals, Handy abandoned that foolishness years ago. What then? To get home?

He smiled wryly at the thought, quickly banishing it under a groan of pain, stopping to catch his breath as he leaned against a wall, droplets of waters bouncing off his shoulder. Hope he could find something for his pet mage to use to get him home got him here in the first place. Why did he even want that anyway? Not as if his life was any roll in the daises back there. ’Wasn’t worse, either.’ He reasoned. ’I guess I just have to… I have to try at least.’ He told himself, unsure if he really believed it. He chewed at the thought for a few moments before pressing on.

Hope. Fuck it. What a waste of time.

He crest a rise in the winding cave tunnel and came upon a truly vast chamber. So vast that the light from his brick did not even cast the remotest light upon the far wall. However, it need not do so. The wide, flat floor of the chamber was home to things, the first being a winding, lazily flowing river, lit with some luminescent plants growing around its bends, casting a soft, light that only illuminated a short area around them. 

The second thing that caught his attention was not the plants, but rather a larger source of light. That of a fire. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There, in the centre of the chamber, sat a hut. Made out of rock and ancient decaying wood, it sat there. He saw the warm, orange glow of a fire shine out through the imperfections of its structure. Someone was living down here!

Handy couldn’t believe his eyes, he removed his helmet with his free hand as he rubbed his eyes. He searched and found a slope down to the base of the chamber. Carefully he descended, using his brick to shine upon the ground. It was surprisingly flat and even, covered in ancient stone dust and tiny rocks, he thought he could make out strange patterns drawn in the dust. But it was hard to tell through the sharp shadows cast as he shone his light.

He slowly made his way closer to the hut, shining his light back and forth in the path in front of him, wary of any pitfalls that might be lurking in the near all-encompassing darkness. He smiled, subconsciously before it faltered. He stopped some distance from the hut as a thought struck him, the orange light from within flickering, casting odd shadows on the ground as it shone through the imperfections in the walls.

Here, in the depths of the earth, God saw fit to show Handy hope. A hope of civilization that only confirmed its isolation by its very presence here. Who’d choose to live down here? Why? Unless they had no choice in the matter. He snarled. Was this a joke? A hallucination? Out of all the twists and turns he took in the cave up until now, he finds this, the most unlikely of discoveries by sheer chance?

He took an unconscious step back. Fearful that it was some trick of the mind or worse, he thought long and hard about simply turning away and walking off in some other direction. He considered the endless blackness all around him and looked back at the hut. Struggling with indecision. This was too good to be true, too… Convenient. He grit his teeth.


--=--


Handy gently pushed open the door to the shack, the flimsy wood was held together by lengths of rusted iron wire and ancient, worn tweed. It was a humble affair, to say the least. The walls were lined with lengths of wood and small placards of smoothed, flat stones. Upon these plaques were hung the skeletons of several species of fish and certain subterranean plants, mostly different varieties of mushrooms. The sight reminded Handy a little of those glass framed butterflies collectors would put together, except writ large and slightly more morbid. 

There was a small cot with what looked like furs draped over it, the base of the walls were cluttered with all manner of grey, clay pots and statuettes. In the centre of the room was a fire pit with a roaring flame, burning coals at its heart, a blackened pot hung over it. There was some kind of broth cooking slowly over the flame, the smell wasn’t all that enticing, but certainly not off-putting. Handy stood there in the doorframe, shivering, reluctant to go near the fire, as much as he sought its warmth to dry him off. He continued surveying the small dwelling, there was a large rock over which a wooden plank had been placed. Upon it were several small linens and utensils that looked like they had been carved out of small bones, they appeared as old and worn as everything else here.

Briefly he wondered where one would get this much wood all the way down here. His musings, however were interrupted and Handy nearly jumped out of his skin, jumping sideways into the room as he felt something poke his side.

“Oh… Terribly sorry didn’t see you there.” An aged voice cracked. Handy’s left hand reached over and rested on the head of his hammer as his other clutched his helmet. Standing where he had just been was a hawk headed griffon, feathers a soft brown fading to white. Her entire body was covered by a tattered, black shawl. Her red, blood shot eyes studied Handy as he stood there. He looked down at her raised claw, which clutched a small bag. The griffon smiled at the human, her grey beak was cracked in places. “You’re just in time for dinner.” She said as she walked towards the pot in the centre of the room.

Handy took a step back, his head readied on his hammer. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been an old woman. “I…” He began, trying to find the words. ’Where the hell did she come from?’ “I was just… I’m lost.” He managed.

“Oh don’t worry about that now.” She said warmly as she settled on a ragged mat near the fire, rummaging in the bag she brought in. “Sit, you look tired.” She said looking back up at him. 

“I am but…” Handy said, gesturing at the door absent minded before shaking his head. “Sorry but… who are you?” He asked.

“Oh I’m just Nanny Frie,” she said, dumping the contents of her bag into the broth. “This is my home.” She said, gesturing around. Handy looked from one wall to another.

“Its… lovely.” He said, she smiled knowingly at him before reaching behind her and pulling a crooked length of metal from an oil skin sleeve and used it to stir the pot.

“Close the door there, would you? So the heat won’t be let out.” She asked. Handy blinked and thought about pointing out the room’s walls were full of holes before thinking better of it. He closed the door, his gaze never leaving the old griffon. “That’s a good lad, thank you kindly.” She says, rummaging about in her shawl. “Ah there we are.” She pulls a small brown pouch and opened it. Holding it over the pot she taps it a few times and orange powder trickles into the bubbling concoction. Handy noted that it now smelled considerably more appetizing. “For flavour.” She explained.

Handy studied the old bird, blinking away through the pain in his head and his swimming vision. He must have hit his head tremendously hard on the way down. She seemed… frail. She took in shuddering breaths and moved slowly and deliberately. Her claws shaking with rheumatism, “I’m… Terribly sorry but… You said this was your home?” He asked, she nodded. “How long have you been here?” She sighed.

“Oh… I don’t quite remember, but it’s been a very long time. I’ve had to keep myself busy.” She gestured to the walls around her. Handy’s observation that the plaques on the wall were similar to those of hobbyists appeared to be right on the money. “Making pottery gets old after a while…” She hummed some little song to herself as she stirred the pot. “Go ahead and sit boy!” She said, pointing at a spot across the fire from her. Handy looked at the fire, thinking, before eventually sitting some distance from it next to a wall. Pulling his knees to his chest, his greaves making sitting awkward.

It was a bewildering situation and Handy was not entirely sure he wasn’t just imagining everything. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought, how likely is it that he’d ever find someone down here? Never mind one who has apparently lived here for quite some time. “I’m sorry to intrude on you.” He said, trying to process everything.

“Oh it’s no trouble at all, I don’t get the chance to entertain guests much.” She said, lifting her stirring stick from the broth. “Would you like some?” She asked.

“I… No thanks…” Handy said.

“Oh go on!” She said, chuckling before giving in to a cough. “Look at you, you’re shivering. Here, come on now, it’ll warm you up.” She said, Handy breathed hard, the pain in his chest slowly becoming more pronounced as the fire warmed him and banished the chill and numbness. Handy looked at the broth and considered her offer.

“I suppose…” He relented. She leaned over and pulled a bag from under the cot and withdrew two chipped, earthen bowls from it. His brow furrowed at that. “If you don’t have guests… Why do you have more than one bowl?” She looked at him in surprise before chuckling again.

“In case the one I use gets broken!” She replied.

“Oh…” Handy said, shaking his head. She dipped the two bowls into the broth and withdrew them, she placed her own beside her, walking around the fire to hand the other to the human. He hesitated before eventually reaching out and taking the proffered bowl. “Thank you,” he said. She returned back to her position and took the bowl into her claws, drinking deeply from it. Handy tapped his fingers along the bowl as he looked down at it, contemplatively.

A thought struck him. “Excuse me… Nanny Frie?” He asked, she looked up with a raised eyebrow. “I’m… Not exactly from around here.” He pointed out, noting the complete lack of any of the reactions he had become accustomed to. “You… You’re ok with that?” He asked. She smiled and chuckled once more. He frowned.

“Oh, I noticed. But you looked like you needed help, now go on, drink up, there’s plenty more where that came from.” She insisted, Handy looked down once more at his bowl. Slowly, he brought it to his lips. It tasted… well, it tasted bland actually, despite the nice smell, but it was wonderfully warm. He finished it off as they both ate in silence. The bird took another helping for herself and offered Handy another bowl full. He agreed to the offer and took another bowl.

He felt considerably better, warm. He was still aching but it bothered him less and he breathed easier. “Now.” She asked. “What brings you all this way?” She asked, Handy looked at her.

“I was…” He began, stopping as he struggled to keep his thoughts straight. He explained to her who he was, thankfully she didn’t question beyond the fact that he was a human and he came from Milesia, or that he was working for the king of Gethrenia. He explained that he was investigating strange goings on at a farm with another griffon when the bird fell down the well. He had entered the well himself to try to save him when the cave he was in collapsed.

“Oh dear.” She commented. “So you’re stuck here.”

“It seems that way.” He said, taking a breath. Odd, it didn’t hurt as much as before. “Story of my life…” He muttered, she just continued gumming her little song. Handy just sat there, his back leaning against the surprisingly sturdy wall. “I’ve been trying to find a way out.”

“Have you now? Good, good.” She said, nodding. “Not a very nice neighbourhood here.” She chuckled. Handy smiled wryly. “I’ve been wondering around here a long, long time, trying to find a way out myself.” She said.

“How did you end up down here?” Handy asked. She shrugged, Handy spied her left wing as it poked partially through her shawl, it was lacking quit a number of primaries and had several sores.

“I woke up down here, year ago.” She said.

“Years?” Handy asked incredulously.

“Oh yes, years, its been a lonely time. I was so angry in the beginning.” She shook her head, chuckling. “But that proved to be a waste of time.”

“How have you survived?”

“By making do.” She said gesturing around her. “It’s been hard but I’ve made it my home.” Handy looked at the bird as she drank deeply from her bowl. How could anyone live like that? And be content with it?

“I… See.” Handy said, looking at his empty bowl. Was this what he was stuck with now? Surely if there was a way out, someone as resourceful as this bird to have survived down here for years would have found it by now. That meant he was truly stuck here. The bird noticed the despondent look on the human’s face.

“Something wrong?” She asked, concern etched on her features. He shook himself from his reverie. 

“Just thinking, have you stopped trying to find a way out?” He asked, she looked at him as if he suddenly sprouted a second head before throwing her head back and cackling.

“Of course not!” She said. “But after a while, I figured it wise to build a place for me to sleep when I get tired. Wouldn’t you agree?” She asked, Handy chastised himself for his apparent foolishness.

“I… Of course! I just thought… Well you’ve been here so long.”

“Well why would I give up trying to get out?” She asked, amused. “I’ve never given up hope of trying to find a way out, nope.” She continued. Now Handy felt impressed. This bird had been struggling down here in the darkness, eking out a life, if it could be called that. Never giving up hope of finding her way out to freedom. And she had done this for years. 

“But you haven’t found a way out…” He said. “Doesn’t that get tiring?” He asked, thoroughly impressed by the griffon’s fortitude.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that.” She said, filling her bowl again, taking Handy’s and filling it as well. “The exit’s actually over that way.” She said gesturing with her stirring rod. Handy spat the mouthful of soup back into the bowl in shock.

“Wait what?” He asked, looking at the bird dumbstruck. “But you just said you’ve been wondering the caves for years to find a way out!”

“I have!” She said, chuckling once more. “Trying to find another way out that is, I can’t get out through the one exit I know of.”

“Why?” He asked. She sighed.

“Oh, I’m an old bird and won’t be able to manage to get out that way… Too strenuous.” She clicked her beak as she looked Handy over. “Say, you’re a young lad, a knight of the king?” Handy nodded. “Would you kindly lend an old griffon a claw?”

“Thou means help thee to get out?” He said, remembering his air as he took more of the soup. The chill was banished with its warmth and he felt… surprisingly refreshed. The pain in his head ebbed away, slowly. She nodded. Handy made a show of thinking about it, but really, if this bird knew of a way out, there was no way in hell he wasn’t seizing on the opportunity. “Of course!” He said, now reflecting on his thoughts earlier, wondering where in the hell they came from.

“Oh, happy days!” She said, clapping her claws together. “I thought it’d be a good day today!” She said happily, chuckling again. Handy couldn’t help but smile, the old woman’s good cheer was hard to resist. Then a thought struck him.

“Will you show me the way?” He asked, “I am not familiar with the caves…” She waved a claw. 

“Oh no, I am quite tired from my chores today, I wouldn’t be able to walk the whole way… Ah!” She said, rising a single talon as something dawned on her. She got up and walked over to the to large stone with the wooden plank, reaching behind it, she heard her rummage. Something brittle broke and she let out a disappointed sigh. Eventually she pulled forward a length of wood with a small, iron cage on one end. Inside was a strange stone. She placed the cage in the fire and it caught light. “Here!” She offered.

Handy, for his part, just looked at the burning brand. Unwilling to take it from her claw. She cocked her head curiously. “Is there something wrong?” She asked.

“Its just… Well I’m not really-”

“Oh wait!” She snapped her other claw and reached within her shawl again, pulling a purple pouch, she tugged on one end of the string which bound it and tapped it over the torch. Blue powder fell from it and the flame’s colour change, she brought it close to her beak and whispered something Handy could not make out. The flame suddenly bent, as if blowing in a breeze and pointed towards the wall to Handy’s left. He blinked.

“What did you…” He before, before it clicked and he put two and two together. That was magic, she was stuck underground, and there were strange patterns on the dirt outside the hut. Holes on the surface around the farm, looking as if they were blasted from underneath. “Wait… Are you the cause of the magic in the farm above?” He asked seriously. She just smiled in return. 

“Well, I did say I’ve been trying to find another way out.” She shrugged, “I got frustrated and started just trying to brute force my way out, I didn’t mean to cause any harm…” She smiled apologetically. Handy looked hard at her.

“If you could do that, why don’t you use your power to get through the exit?”

“I’ve tried,” She admitted. “My magic is ill suited to the task, and my body is not as spry as it used to be so I cannot just force my way through.” She said, Handy’s eyes narrowed at her. She smiled apologetically at him. “Truly I did not mean to cause any trouble, had I known my actions would result in somegriffon else becoming trapped down here, I would have not done so.”

In truth Handy was not angry at her, it was, afterall, not her fault he was down here. No that fault belonged to another griffon entirely. He was, however, cautious. He noted, oddly enough, that the flame turned blue and no longer emitted heat. “What did you do to the torch?” He asked.

“Oh a little trick I came up with.” She said. “It’ll show you where you want to go, the fire will never go out unless you put it out.” He blinked.

“Then why don’t you use the stone to keep yourself warm?” He said, gesturing at the fire beside them. If she had effectively endless fire, it made no sense not to use it. She smiled and ran a claw through the flame, the tongues of fire lapped around her claw harmlessly. 

“No good for that sort of thing I’m afraid, believe me I’ve tried changing it to do just that, still haven’t perfected it.” She smiled, Handy reluctantly, reached out and took the flame from her.

“This’ll show me the way?” He asked. She nodded, he eventually got to his feet. He didn’t notice that his bones didn’t seem to ache anymore. He put his helmet back over his face and eyed the witch-bird warily. “I’ll come back once I clear the way,” he said. She beamed at him and he noticed her teeth were discoloured and more than a few were missing.

“Oh I knew I had a good feeling about you, thank you young lad. All-maker bless ya…” She said. He nodded at her before turning to the door, giving her one last, cautious glance before closing it and backing away from the hut. He patted the pocket where his brick was kept, ensuring it was still there. He held the torch aloft in his left hand, briefly the flames licked at the exposed neck where his helmet met his cuirass as he past the torch from one hand to another. 

He flinched reflexively, but found his fear was misplaced. Thankfully, his skin did not spontaneously catch light, it seems the witch’s brand wasn’t real fire afterall. He let out a grateful breath as he pulled his hammer out with his right hand. He turned and followed the direction the flame led him. Glancing once more over his shoulder at the hut. ’This had better pan out…’ He thought.


--=--


Handy had acted almost as soon as the monster had finished its initial ‘roar’, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He charged at the creature as it reared its ‘forelegs’ and landed them where handy had been standing only moments before. The human had found himself beneath the golem when his mind caught up, he stopped as he suddenly realised he was in a compromising position.

The moment’s hesitation cost him precious seconds and the golem punished him for it. It spun suddenly, one of its legs reaching inwards and catching Handy with a kick, sending him sprawling across the floor and crashing bodily into the wall. The explosion of pain that wracked his body almost caused him to black out as he lost his grip on his hammer. His head spun and he just barely managed to duck and roll away as another dark grey foreleg punched out and crashed into the wall where his head had been not a second before.

He spent the first few minutes of the fight in much the same way, struggling to dodge the creature’s powerful attacks, its round body turning and following the human’s movements as it kicked out and lashed with its limbs. It was slow and ponderous when turning, but terrifyingly fast when it charged and attacked. Limestone stalactites fell loose from the ceiling and crashed against the floor as the chamber shook with the living stone’s violence. 

In a moment of clarity Handy realised he wasn’t going to survive this fight if he didn’t get some breathing space. He couldn’t retreat and the only exit was blocked, he couldn’t force his way through.

But the golem probably could.

He grimaced as he decided what he’d do. He purposely ran around the golem, snatching up his dropped hammer, until he was back on the side of the room from whence he emerged. The golem swung low with a leg, forcing Handy to drop prone to the ground to dodge it, he felt the wave of air rush past him as the leg missed him by inches. As the golem quickly brought the leg back down upon the ground just where he lay, he put his hurried plan into action. The crash of rock upon the ground resounding around the room, shaking the earth as he rolled out of the way just in time. Struggling to get back to his feet once more before the living stone moved to crush him. 

He had pushed himself to his feet and ran under the golem, the creature rose up, turned its body downwards and dropped. Handy had managed to run out from under the golem just as it crashed with the ground, running over to the gate. Handy thoughts raced as he considered his options. He skid to a halt before the stone gate, the ground beneath him shaking with the rapid footfalls of the golem. His idea was a reckless one and it would likely end in his death. But he just didn’t have the room to move, the enclosed space favoured the stone giant. ’Come on, come on…’ He thought desperately.

The golem turned. It lacked a face yet still turned as if it had one and charged at the human. The impossible, double jointed limbs, granting it tremendous speed as it bounded the short distance to the human. Handy gripped his hammer in both hands and spread his feet, bending his knees, preparing to spring into action. Timing was quite literally everything here.

The golem bounded across the distance with two short leaps before it was upon him, with one final lunge, the creature had finally committed to crushing the human. Time seemed to slow down as Handy lunged forward, towards the golem. He hit his head on the right foreleg of the golem, breaking off the left blade of his helmet. The blow jerked his head violently, as he crashed to the ground. But he had done it, he had leaped in under the attack of the golem, who had tried to correct its mistake mid-bound but failed. Its momentum carried it crashing into the wall with the stone gate.

There was a tremendous crash and the golem had punched straight through the rock and glorious golden sunlight shone into the room. Handy rubbed his neck as he pushed himself up to his knees and turned. The golem had exploded out onto a hillside, sending large chunks of rock flying into nearby trees as it skidded in the soft dirt, trying to regain its balance. Handy smiled viciously. “Fucking score!” He shouted as he pushed himself back up.

With the sound of grinding rock the creature moaned in apparent frustration, it turned its body towards the human, who now stood at the newly created gaping cave mouth. Handy blinked. “Ok… One problem down…” He said, noting the destroyed wall and the delicious breath of fresh air filling his lungs, his armour shone wondrously where it was not dented and torn. He only noticed the terrible state of his suit now that he was out in the open. Between the fall and the fight, it had taken quite a bit of punishment. “Now what to do about you…” He said, looking over at the golem, his neck ached.

The golem roared again, a sound of an avalanche as it charged up to him. “Oh no you don’t asshole…” He said to himself as he ran to the nearby trees. The Golem changed its course halfway up the hill to chase after the human. Crashing through the pines trees as the human ran, weaving between the trees. It slowed the golem down but did not deter it, and it wasn’t dissipating into its component parts as they created distance between them and the cave. Handy cursed, it was a longshot but it was worth a try.

The Golem leaped, achieving a surprisingly height now that it wasn’t restricted by the cave. It soared over Handy and landed hard in front of the human, forcing him to skid to a halt. It lashed out with a leg, Handy dived under it as it crashed into a nearby tree. His lungs burned with the effort. Honestly, he was not sure why he hadn’t collapsed by now, he had been exhausted by the time he had reached the hut. However, right now, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He rolled back to his feet, he heard an ominous groan and looked up. The tree the golem had hit was an ancient looking pine. It withdrew its foreleg, focused entirely on the human who was distracted by the tree which was now leaning dangerously in his direction. He turned to look at the Golem which shuddered as it let out another bellow. Handy’s mind raced as a thought came to him. He stood up and spread his arms wide, yelling in mock challenge at the golem. The tree cracked and started to fall. The golem moved, Handy jumped back.

The tree crashed down on top of the golem just as it started to charge once more at the human. The creature was pinned to the ground under the tremendous weight. Handy had, meanwhile, fallen on his backside ingloriously. “Believe it or not…” Handy said, breathing heavily as he got back up. The Golem struggled to raise back to its own ‘feet’ letting out pathetic, earthy growls, struggling under the weight of the tree. “I know exactly how that feels.” He smiled wryly, thinking back the little kerfuffle he had in a forest out in the west of Equestria. 

His smile faltered however as he saw the golem was slowly overcoming its new burden and would soon be out from under the felled pine tree. He looked around him desperately. If he fled, the golem would just chase after him again, he looked at the struggling creature as he thought furiously. It was then he noticed the green rocks glinting duly in the sunlight. 

He saw those same rocks on the surface of the farm, built into the well structure. There were no holes within ten feet of that well. When he had ran into the golem for the first time, the magical flame of his burning brand had been sucked into them. That’s why the witch couldn’t escape, that’s why she had been sending magical blasts to the surface, she has been trying to get out of what was essentially, a prison was designed to absorb magic. With the golem as a warden.

The stones did not look as sturdy as the granite that made up most of the body of the golem and a thought occurred to him. It was worth a shot and he’d never get a better shot. He raised his hammer and charged at the golem, bringing his hammer down in an arc on the joint of its left foreleg. Colliding with the green stone that acted as its elbow. The stone cracked satisfactorily under his assault, the golem screamed and tried to lash out with its leg, but moving it caused the tree to press down on it.

Handy swung upwards at the join and the stone smashed under the assault, a small eruption of magical energy pushed him away and caused the entire appendage to shatter and fall to the ground inert. The golem collapsed under the sudden absence of the leg, bellowing. Handy shouted in triumph as he regained his footing and moved over to the other leg, the golem trapped under the tree. The green rock of this limb was not located conveniently at the bottom joint of the leg, but gather at the upper portion of the leg, the golem didn’t move it, pushing down on the ground. Struggling to free itself.

Handy grimaced. When the golem was standing normally, it reached eight feet in height. But that was not its full extension. A single leg of the golem consisted of three parts, the foreleg was the widest and longest, eight feet in length were it would narrow to a join, the second part of the leg was shorter, an additional three feet before it came to the second join and the third portion consisted of an additional two feet where it connected with the body. Giving the golem a spiderlike construction and incredible reach.

So Handy was faced with the prospect of trying to disable this golem permanently by taking out two of its legs on one side, but in order to do that, he’d need to climb eight feet of rock leg to reach its weak point. There was nothing for it, if he tried to duck around to the golem’s other side to get a leg with a more conveniently located weakness, it’d waste precious seconds. The golem was already recovering and pushing the tree off of it. He ran to the leg.

He swung his hammer and hooked it into a protruding handhold in the leg as he pulled himself up. Climbing haphazardly. The golem, aware of the human’s actions struggled more, trying to shake the limb. Handy almost lost his grip as one of the rocky protrusions he had been standing on gave way as the golem roared once more. He persisted and climbed up onto the leg, reaching its apex.

The golem thrashed suddenly, turning manic as the human neared the knee. It roared and with a tremendous effort it shot upwards, the felled tree rolling off of it. It lifted its leg and brought it down hard on the ground. The force almost shook Handy from his grip, he cursed as he held on desperately for dear life. The golem roared again, stepping around, Handy almost lost his grip, cursing. Finally the golem reared on its ‘hind’ legs and raising its leg into the air, Handy was now upside down and lost his grip. A terrifying sense of weightlessness gripped him as he fell.

He collided hard with the body of the golem itself, knocking the wind from him. The golem, thrashed, roaring again. Handy struggled, gripping the body of the golem to prevent himself from falling. “STOP. FUCKING. MOVING!” He managed to shout, his mind gripped by raw adrenaline as he pulled himself back on top of the moving stone. The golem shook violently. 

“FUCK.” He said through gritted teeth, gripping his hammer’s haft half way. One of the green stones was right before his face, he raised his hammer and brought it down on the stone. It cracked and the golem roared. “YOU.” He said. Bringing the hammer down again, the angle was not great but the stone cracked further. The golem stumbled. “YOU FUCKING.” He managed to raise his hammer higher as the golem shook less. “GIT!” The stone exploded and Handy’s helmet was pelted with fragments of rock as it craters the top of the golem’s body. The golem groaned in pain as it trembled violently. 

The force of the explosion pushed Handy away and he hung dangerously off the side of the golem’s body with one hand. He panicked and flail his hammer arm around, catching it on the edge of the newly formed crater. He shouted with effort as he pulled himself back on top of the stumbling, stunned Golem. He got back on top of the moving creature, gripping with his knees as he saw an-other, larger green stone at where the creature’s ‘forehead’ would have been based on where its wounded leg was.

Handy wanted to say something, but he was quickly running out of breath, his arms ached. So instead, he let his hammer do the talking. He raised it above his head, two handed and brought it down on the large stone. It cracked, the creature stumbled once more and Handy was almost thrown from the body. He gripped it with his left hand for balance as he raised his hammer with his right arm and brought it down again, cracking it further. ’One more.’ He thought. ’Come on, God damnit!’ 

The golem emitted a pitiful sound as Handy brought the third blow. The stone cracked apart and glowed brightly. Handy’s eyes widened as the stone exploded. The entire central body of the golem shattered in a wave of green energy and Handy was thrown clear. He landed hard on the ground. 

He lay there for a while, focusing on breathing. “Uggghughhuhhhh….” He managed after some time, the wind shaking the pines above him as the sun pierced through the clouds. He didn’t hear anything other than the rustling of pine needles and the wind. He took that as a good sign as he decided to indulge his exhaustion, the adrenaline fading and pain taking its place.

After a while of watching the clouds pass overhead, he heard footsteps. Red eyes peered down at him as an avian head looked over him, smiling down at him. It was the witch. He tried to move in order to sit up, but his muscles protested sternly at such an action so he lay there. Forced to turn his head, his neck aching.

“Thank you.” The old bird said, chuckling softly. “For a time there I didn’t think I’d ever see the sunlight again.” She held a bag over his head. “For your trouble.” She said, placing it beside his head. He turned and noticed the burning brand, now unlit had been placed on the grass next to where the griffon dropped the bag.

“What is it?” He asked, in truth he wanted to ask the witch quite a lot of thing. Namely who in the bloody hell was she actually, and who had imprisoned her there? But he was hardly in a position to make her talk.

“Something to help ease the pain, and a little favour.” She said, “Thank you Handy of Milesia, I shall not forget your kindness.” She said as she removed herself from his limited field of vision. The human managed to roll over to his side to bring his arm around, grunting with the effort. The witch had disappeared. The human looked around, she had been there merely seconds before, where the hell did she get off to? How did she get out here so fast in the first place?

He pulled the bag over to him and opened it, inside was a clay flask. He opened the stopper and a familiar scent reached him, it was more of the broth from before and suddenly it hit him that the witch’s brew had helped him recover from the fall. He sat there for a moment, the implications of everything he had just undergone running through his mind. Eventually, after thinking hard, he drank the warm broth from the flask.


--=--


“What do you mean he’s dead!?” Tanismore roared, gripping the injured adolescent by the shoulders and pinning him against the wall. The storm from earlier had soaked the town and Shorttail’s paws splashed against the large puddle beneath him. The bird tried his best to explain to the knight how Handy had sacrificed himself when trying to save him. Tears streamed down his face at the memory of it, Tanismore was furious. 

“Hey!” Tanis turned, and saw Brightblade marching up to him threateningly. He reared and brought his glaive to bear. “Let him go.”

“Not until I’ve heard the full story…” Tanismore growled with warning, glaring daggers at the smaller bird at his claws.

“He is a page of the duke’s court, you will leave him alone, now.” Brightblade warned. Tanismore’s head snapped to face the knight, two more of his fellows rounded the corner at the sound of raised voices, seeing their leader ready to come to blows they made to do the same.

“You work for the duke!?” He shouted at the terrified Shorttail.

“I-I-”

“You led Handy to that farm! Why!?”

“I was ordered to!” He confessed.

“Hush, damn you!” Brightblade hissed. Tanismore let out an avian screech of rage as he dropped the younger griffon onto the puddle. The human’s possessions he had brought with him lay forgotten in the middle of the street.

“Your duke, lured the human to his death!” He pointed accusingly at Brightblade. He drew his sword and Brightblade’s wings spread wide in response, blades glistening along his primaries.

“It was an accident!” Brightblade shouted back, having overheard Shorttail’s confession as he intervened. “Nogriffon could have foreseen that!” Tanismore was having none of it and rose into the air.

“The king’s swordbearer is dead after following the duke’s servant under his own orders!” Tanismore shouted, pointing at the knight with his sword, Shorttail cowered on the ground, clutching his injured arm. “There is plenty wrong with that as it is!” Brightblade flapped his wings dangerously, but didn’t take to the air. The two other knights came up from behind him.

“You don’t want to do this,” the bluecloak warned. “Stand down, we can work this out.”

“I am a knight of the royal court of Gethrenia and the Swordbearer’s deputy, I will not take commands from you!” He said, putting down the beak guard of his helm. Reaching to his side and pulling his shield from its strap. 

The townsgriffons muttered to themselves, huddling around the corner as they watched the tense situation unfold. The human was dead, hushed whispers permeated the street as the news spread from mouth to mouth. So engrossed were they in the drama unfolding that they almost did not notice the tremendously bright light encroach upon them, until they saw their shadows grow increasingly stark. They turned one by one, covering their eyes. Fortunately, a cloud chose to cover the sun at that moment, lessening the blinding effect as the human walked up the street, heading towards the commotion in front of the keep.

The griffons parted as the human stormed past them. He saw the five of them, Tanismore was in the air above them, staring down at the bluecloaks, he didn’t notice Handy at first. The human took note of the three bluecloaks shouting at the royal knight, one in particular had a distinctive helm he remembered all too well.

Brightblade, number sixty seven on the shitlist. Punishment due; rapid application of terrible violence for offences laid against him. Handy reached down to the hoop that his hammer hung from on his belt. Grabbing it and twisting it around as he walked, he turned the hammer upside down. As it slid out from its hold, he gripped its haft, coming up behind Brightblade at a brisk pace.

“The human is dead, there is no sense blaming his loss on the duke. It was-” The knight noticed footsteps behind him and turned, only for Handy’s upswing to catch him on underside of his helmet. The knight stumbled back as Handy brought his hammer’s momentum to a halt and swung it back down on the knight’s head, sending him crashing to the ground unconscious.

Punishment delivered, Brightblade’s position on the shitlist now moved back down ten places to seventy seven. The two bluecloaks jumped back in shock. Handy ignored them as Tanismore gawked at him.

“H-Handy!” He said.

“Tanis.” Handy said by way of greeting, much more calmly then his recent display of aggression would indicate. He turned his head to look at the two bluecloaks on either side of him. They didn’t make any movements, so he reached down and picked up Brightblade’s glaive. “I’ll be taking this. Now.” He said, turning towards Shorttail who just looked at Handy in total astonishment. He walked over to the griffon, picking up his cloak from where it lay on the ground and placing it about his shoulders once more.

“I-I… I thought you were dead.” Shorttail said.

He looked hard at the griffon for a moment, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet before turning away and walking towards the keep. He threw his shield and pack to Tanismore as he alighted back on the ground. “I need to speak with the duke.” He said.


--=--


Karl sat by the window, drinking water as he flipped idly through some dreary text he had found in his room when he heard a knock at the door. He gave the door a withering look at the interruption. He coughed to clear his throat. “Come in.” He said.

The door opened to reveal the human’s soaked cloak and dented armour, Karl’s eyes widened as the human stalked into the room. A servant followed after him before the human rounded on him. The servant backed away out of the room and closed the door. “You.”  Handy said simply. His voice like ice. Karl made to get up, "Sit. Down." He commanded. The duke reluctantly obeyed as he sat back in his chair. Handy sat across from him at the small table between them, he laid his hammer on the table and crossed his hands upon it, leaning forward. "Now, you and I are going to be having a little chat." He said, looking into the young duke's eyes. "About what I found at your family's old farm. And more importantly." Handy said, his mounting fury tempered as an interesting idea crossed his mind. "Exactly what you're going to have to do to keep me quiet about it."