//------------------------------// // Retreating Fire // Story: What Remains I: The Griffon and Her Dweeb // by Bateman66 //------------------------------// Dressing injuries had never been a strong suit of Gilda’s. Doing it in the middle of a snowstorm didn’t much improve her abilities either. Still, fixing a wound with medical tape and disinfectant was a tad easier when applying it to someone else than to yourself. Thankfully Alistair only winced one or twice as she worked on the impact area on his shoulder, for the most part standing as still as possible while keeping his mouth shut to prevent any distracting shrieks of pain from escaping. Finishing her work, she stood up from her crouched position and nodded to Alistair. “That’s about as much as I can do. You should be fine from here, nothin’ broken or anything. Just don’t touch it.” Alistair gravely nodded in return, his face still paled from the horrid pain he had felt earlier. “I’ll do my best.” Slowly reaching into his coat pocket, he unfolded the small parchment map and studied it for a moment. “We’re closing in on it,” he said with as much forced cheer he could manage. “We just need to continue along the edge for a few more miles. The mountain entrance should be right in the center of it, there’s no way we can miss it.” Gilda bit her lip nervously. “What if we run into that pack of crazies again? I’m not sure we’d fare any better than we did earlier in weather like this.” “That’s just a risk we have to take,” he answered with a shrug. “They could be back in the cave for all we know, or maybe they got a head start while we stopped. Whichever it is, there’s no way to tell.” “Alright,” she said hesitantly. “I guess that’s all we can do. You want me to take go first? My eyes can see farther than yours.” He gestured for her to go first. “Lead on then. I’ll try to keep out.” The trek through the snow was even more difficult than their first day through the simple snow drifts close to Zahn’s castle. This snow was lighter, fluffier, and much deeper. Every step they took they had to practically plow through the layer of snow that nearly reached their knees, kicking up more snow flurries that were thrown around by the wind. Still, something had most definitely changed from the first day they began. No longer did an overhanging air of mutual dislike hang between the two travelers, but instead a better understanding of the other. They’d of course talked and got to know one another better, but it was through the simple actions of how they walked side-by-side when they could or how their style of walking was starting to become similar to the others. Not only had a relationship formed between them, but as well a connection to the other, a synergy that had probably been the only thing keeping them going at such a great pace. It did cross Alistair’s mind about what would particularly happen once all of this was over. He’d of course go back to Canterlot and be assigned some other diplomatic mission that would most likely put him on a boat to Celestia-knows-where. Gilda would most certainly go back to Zahn’s stronghold, continuing to be a soldier in his ranks and fighting of the occasional snow troll attack when the occasion would arise. But the real question was: would they ever see each other again? Sure, they were friends, enjoyed talking with one another, and maybe would even like going an outing of some sort just for the heck of it. But were they really close enough friends to regularly keep in contact an ocean away? He assumed not, in fact, he assumed nobody was close enough friends with anyone to continue to try and salvage a relationship like that from such a long distance. It wouldn’t be like they weren’t friends anymore, but there was really no feasible way to check in with another from so far away. And even then there were hurdles. Griffons didn’t particularly like outsiders, especially a human within their borders, and making a habit out of it, even on a weakly basis may not bode well with the higher command. Well forget them he thought simply. You’re already a bit short in the friend department. Letting a pompous griffon monarch get in the way of that wouldn’t really help with your stock. Nodding in agreement with himself, he moved his attention back to the task at hand, a bit embarrassed with how easily he’d gotten distracted. For now he didn’t have the liberty to have his head in the clouds. A treasure awaited him and Gilda, and was just nearly out of their reach. -------------------- By the time they reached the base of the mountain the polar wind had picked up drastically in tenacity. In turn, even Gilda under her thick layers of fur and feathers was starting to shiver at the gaping maws of the cold. A large set of high reaching double doors signalized the entrance to the crypt, it’s rugged black wood some how standing up to years of a never-ending snowstorm. Small engravings appeared to have once been etched upon the outer façade of the doors, but the ambient rush of wind had dulled down whatever images had once been there and simply left it a bumpy mess. “Guess this is it,” Alistair shouted over the screeching wind, his eyes nearly shut while facing the frigid wrath. “Do you think the doors are locked?” “I don’t know,” she shouted back, “only one way to tell.” Approaching the entrance carefully, Gilda gingerly pushed against the doors and felt them slowly arch open. Gesturing for him to follow, Gilda went inside. As soon as he too entered the space, Gilda promptly pushed the doors shut once again. “Can’t give the wind any chances,” she said with a grin. He giggled. “Thinking ahead, that’s pretty out of character for you.” “Shut it, dweeb.” The space they found themselves appeared to be some sort of cross between nature and deliberate architecture. The inner sanctum was comprised of hardened blue ice, but it had a grayish tinge to it that set it apart from the sapphire-like walls from the caverns and made it seem more like stone than anything else. The room’s ceiling was something of a cathedral, with a spire like projection that just kept spanning upwards. A dim light shone down from the top of the chamber, giving the large bare space some form of illumination. But still, off to their sides was almost complete darkness, making the room feel even more brooding then the caves they’d spent so much time in.- Little stone statues stood beside each door, abstract projections of something artistic that Alistair couldn’t quite put his finger on. The figures were aged, cracked at several parts, and lacking any color to distinguish it from anything in particular. He took note to examine them later. “Pretty creepy…” Gilda quietly exclaimed as she walked to the center of the atrium. “It’s like bein’ in a castle with all the torches blown out. Feels like the walls are cavein’ in all by themselves.” Alistair shivered and moved with her. “Please don’t talk about cave ins. That’s the last thing we need right now.” He stopped and did a quick take of everything once again. “I wonder where we should start looking.” “Your map doesn’t tell you where the treasure is?” He shook his head. “Just told us how to get here, finding it is our task.” “You’re not serious…” “Nope,” he said with another shake of his head, “if there was some record of where it might be, it’s in the ruined library the map was first found in…all the way back in Canterlot.” Gilda groaned. “This is gonna take forever…” “I wouldn’t expect so,” called an icy and unfamiliar voice echoing out from the shadowed sides of the chamber. “I’d say your trip is almost near its end.”