//------------------------------// // Know Your Companions // Story: Cartography of War // by Daetrin //------------------------------//         Gérard regarded the river with bitter skepticism.  It was still running high from the rain, hissing and splashing past the island.  If anything it seemed more ebullient than when they’d taken their tumble, and his tone was sour as he regarded the torrent.  “It seems further to shore from here.”         “I still can’t believe you don’t know how to swim.”  Rose had her map out.  She’d spent over an hour pacing the island shores, tracing out how to get from there to other side without both of them drowning, but she still wasn’t completely satisfied.  “I thought you had lakes and rivers at home.” “My father can swim like a fish.  I was more at home in the air.” Rose winced, looking out over the water.  The words were casual, but she was keenly aware of how it must have hurt for him to be grounded.  “Well, this time you won’t have to swim.  Or try to, anyway.”  She stowed her maps back in her saddlebags and waded out fetlock-deep in the island’s lee before clambering onto small rock.  “Just follow me.” He did so.  The concept was simple enough; just follow submerged rocks from the island to the shore, just like a ford.   But the path was hardly straight, and none of the hoofholds at all visible.  She had the benefit of her talent and her magic to make her surehoofed, but Gérard was walking it blind, following her lead, and she was relying on his formidable agility to match her knowledge. She went slowly, the water chilling her hooves and tugging at her playfully, as if trying to get her to swim.  Each step she paused, looking back to see that Gérard had managed the hidden rocks and juts and outcrops, walking in her hoofsteps.  From a distance it would have seemed like some strange magic, a gryphon and a pony walking across a river as if it were solid.   Mostly solid. Gérard slipped, once, on a rock that he’d gripped at just the wrong angle, and she cringed as he scrabbled against the current.  But he recovered, took a breath, and nodded at her to continue. It was a long, difficult crawl, more for Gérard than herself.  The only path she could find arched back upstream and then meandered down it, with no regard for haste.  There were a few infuriating gaps that, had the river been calmer, she would have risked jumping, but with that and Gérard to consider she had was forced to take the longer path. Celestia’s sun seemed to crawl as they inched their improbable way across the waters.  Rose was beginning to think she had underestimated the difficulty of the crossing.  It was one thing to have hopped across herself, going as quick as she wanted, but at a deliberate pace all the odd angles made her legs protest, and the sharp edges of rocks dug into her hooves. It was still better than trying to swim, of course. Finally she splashed up onto the bank, turning in time to see Gérard make a single prodigious leap, landing next to her a with feline grace marred only by the way he favored his right foreleg.  He regarded the river for a moment, then turned to her and gave her a deep nod, almost a bow.  “Thank you, Rose.  I am impressed.” “Well,” she said, her ears flicking in embarrassment.  “We were just lucky that there was a trail like that at all.” “What would you have done if there were not one?” He cocked his head at her, curious. “We would have found another way.”  She surveyed the river and the island, then shook her head. “But I’m glad it didn’t come up.”  Her hooves dug into the sparse soil wedged among the rocks of the riverbank as she clambered up to where the slope gentled. Gérard followed her, padding up to join her in gazing over the winding ribbon of the Baltimare. They couldn’t really see that far.  Only a few miles downstream the rocky moraine and spreading maples gave way to more marsh, and a haze that blurred the horizon.  A few winged shapes flitted about, but they were all birds, with no pegasi or gryphons in sight.  It was simply empty, trackless wilderness, beautiful in a raw and dangerous way. Gérard’s beak clicked softly.  “Tch.  I am glad I do not have to find my way through this unaided.” “Likewise,” Rose admitted.  Gérard was probably just worried about getting lost; she was more concerned about being eaten. He glanced sidelong at her.  “Along the river, then?” “In a bit.”  It was east, first, taking an easier way down to the Baltimare’s bank than following the rocky, plunging course of the water behind them.  After maneuvering through some brush they broke out onto what almost might have been a trail, a swath of loam and dead leaves slanting down through the maples. It was easy enough going, for once, that Gérard walked beside her rather than behind. She considered him from the corner of her eye while he, in turn, considered the forest, his ears swiveling this way and that, always alert.  She may not have started it willingly, but now she wanted to finish telling him about her friends.  If she could make herself broach the subject. “I’d...I’d like to talk about Sky Shadow.” His ears pricked forward and he tilted his head to look at her.  “Please do, Rose.” “Of all of us, he probably could have been a soldier..  He was always...eager, to go after any obstacles we had.  He enjoyed the challenge, whether it was dangerous or not.  I think it’s a pegasus thing,” she added parenthetically.  “They all have a tendency to rush headlong.  I think Mercy had to spend twice as much time on him as the rest of us combined. “But he was always the first one to notice if someone was upset.  He stayed up for two days and nights with Scarlet when she had to kill...well, something.  I still don’t know what it was, but it attacked us and nopony could touch it.”  She shook her head.  “When he found out how I’d lost my parents, he went out of his way to be there for me.  It’s not like I was a little filly, but still.” “He cared for you,” Gérard rumbled.  “That is no small thing.” “We all cared for each other.  I guess...it was different, with each pony.”  She paused for a moment, ducking under a low-hanging branch that only had a single wan-looking leaf dangling from the end.  “I also miss...we all worked together.  Sky Shadow was the one who charted air currents.” “I thought maps were your skill?  Or, talent?”  The gryphon inquired, starting to fall behind as the path narrowed, hemmed in by some thorny undergrowth. “Oh, I do the maps, but...Goldy knew plants.  Scarlet knew magic.  Sky was a weatherwind, so he was better at reading the currents than almost anyone else.  Sharp Eye was a tracker, so we had some idea of the animal life…” “I did not realize.”  Gérard sounded impressed, and she glanced back to find his eyebrows raised. “Realize what?” “I thought that perhaps your friends were…” He seemed to struggle with words for a moment, which she had never seen him do.  “Field support,” he finished finally.  “But you were all talons on the same paw.” “Yes, that’s about right.”  It was far from a pony saying, but it seemed to fit.  “Don’t gryphons work together that way?”         “It takes some time.”  His voice was thick with some unidentifiable emotion, making his accent almost incomprehensible, but his next words were more clear.  “It happens more often among fellow warriors.”         She canted her ears speculatively.  “Did you have friends like that?”         “Only once.  A long time ago.”         “Do you want to talk about them?”         Behind her, he chuckled softly.  “Perhaps later.  I do not think you would find the hunts of young gryphons so appealing.”         “Oh.”  She wanted to demur, but with all the good will in the world she wasn’t ready to hear details of a gryphon’s hunt.         “I could tell you instead of Arvel and Glyn,” Gérard offered.  “The two that were felled by the bow.”         “I…”  Rose swallowed something.  At this remove the dead gryphons were tragic, rather than justified, as much victim as victimizer.  “Yes.  Go ahead.”         “I put them together because their stories are twined.  I said your group was like talons on a paw; they were like two halves of a talon.  They came to me that way, a pair that did not need to speak or even look to know what each other wanted.”  He beak clicked.  “I do not know if they were simply friends or if they were lovers, but they would not be separated.”         “That’s - “ She wanted to say it was sweet, but that word - and her imagination - failed her when it came to the romance of two gryphon warriors.  “It sounds like they were happy.”         “I think they were.  Not the best warriors, but scouts without peer.  They enjoyed stalking and tracking.”  Then he sighed.  “They were the ones that spotted your group.  And I do not think it was coincidence they were both felled by the same weapon.”         “Celestia,” Rose whispered, blinking away tears.  She didn’t need him to elaborate on that.         “I did not mean to upset you.”         “No, it’s just...”  She shook her head.  “It’s different when you know about someone who’s been killed.”         “Yes.”  Gérard didn’t elaborate, but it made her consider his desire to know of her friends closer.  And to consider how it was important to gryphons in general to know their dead.         The river interrupted her thoughts.  The trees ended abruptly, the bank no more than a few inches of damp and scoured earth dropping straight to the water.  Rose frowned at it.  “I hope it doesn’t flood while we’re here.  That rain…”         Gérard flicked his ears, lifting his head to sniff at the air.  “I am no weatherwind, but I do not think there is any more coming soon.  Though the water is louder ahead of us.”         “Well, we’re not going to try a raft here, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”         “And I was looking forward to another trip down the rapids,” the gryphon murmured, his eyes twinkling.         She snorted.  “Just like I was looking forward to hauling you out again.  Celestia knows we don’t need to borrow any trouble.”  Rose turned away from the water, choosing only roughly parallelled the river’s windings and passing between an oxbow lake and the river proper.  The canopy was just sparse enough that there was grass instead of mud, but nothing so difficult as thorns or creeper choked the way.  It wouldn’t last.  In the miles ahead of them there was mist as well as haze, and the trees turned to dense cypress.  They’d be back in the bog soon enough.         Gérard paced patiently beside or behind her, depending on how the trees felt like growing.  He was still limping, though it was far less noticeable than before, and all the feathers around the cuts were gone.  Though he seemed cheerful enough, she worried that by the time they reached civilization it would take a unicorn healer to properly restore him.         Which wasn’t likely for a gryphon.         As soon as the cypress canopy closed over their heads, all the cheer of sun and fresh air vanished.  It wasn’t dark, but it was oppressive, closing in around them and muffling everything but her hoofsteps and the sound of the river.  Even the croaks of frogs and whistles of wild birds seemed muted.  Gérard, as ever, made no noise.  At least until a swath of jagged stumps forced them to detour through a shallow pool of water.  “Tch.  More mud.”         “I think we’re stuck within it until we reach the coast.”  She reached for her maps by reflex, spreading the main one before them.  By habit, she shifted the borders of the swamp and added in the patches of maple, subtly changing the details of where they’d been.  “And we’ll still have to cross the river at some point, but we can wait for a ford or at least a very calm area.”         “I expect you will find something,” Gérard agreed.  “You have not failed me yet.  However...”  His voice sharpened slightly. “Do keep away from the deep water, Rose.”         “What?” She stopped, startled, and the gryphon extended a talon to point off to the right, into the swamp.  After a moment there came a splash from something unseen, but large.  She shivered.  “What is it?”         “I do not know.  It is not stalking us, but I would rather not risk it.”         “Me neither.”  Rose turned and changed their path, squeezing between the river and the cypress strands.  There were too many deep pools and stretches of green water for comfort, especially if they held something big.  Or somethings.  Sharp Eye would probably have known what it was, but as it was she had to rely on Gérard to keep her safe.         Which he was certainly capable of doing.         She rubbed absently at her throat, hoping that he wouldn’t have to.  Evidence of his hunts was enough for her, and her camp had held enough slaughter for a dozen lifetimes.         He seemed to catch her mood, moving up to shadow her more closely and keeping himself between her and the bulk of the swamp.  It was one of those actions that seemed well-practiced, any rough edges worn off by years of practice.  And it worked, or maybe it wasn’t necessary, for despite Gérard’s ears twitching wildly from time to time nothing ambushed them other than the occasional stray frog.         Yet it did little for her peace of mind.  To the left, the river somehow kept getting louder, and through the dense screen of cypress she couldn’t see why.  To the right, the expanse of swamp seemed to swallow light and sound and color, looming facelessly despite being no more than standing trees.  And above, the canopy pressed down with a weary grey, muddying Gérard’s white and turning her own fur from parchment to caramel.         It also meant night fell quickly.  It seemed to happen between one step and the next, the light going from merely dim to fully dark, lit only by the winking of fireflies.  Gérard’s eyes gleamed out at her  as she kindled her horn, making her flinch back for a moment before she realized what it was.         “Tch.  It is just as well we are already at a dry patch.”         “Yes,” she agreed, with feeling, lifting the tent from her back.  Of all their supplies, it was the only one undamaged, and she mentally thanked whatever artisan had labored on it.         “I would prefer no fire tonight,” Gérard said, studying the darkness before turning to help fasten the tent stakes.  “I do not wish to stand out in this place.”         “No arguments here,” she agreed, wiping her hooves on the grass and ducking into the tent.  She still had a few mushrooms left over and whole bundle of cattails she’d plucked from their path.  She knew that she’d probably passed by more appetizing plants, but without Goldy she didn’t dare try anything she didn’t recognize. The gryphon crawled in after her, settling down to guard the front of the tent as he took out his own supplies.  But this time, he was guarding her from the outside, not the other way around.         While they ate she brought out the map again, extending the line of their journey along the Baltimare.  It was a disappointingly short line, but it was better than not moving at all for three days or more.         “How are we doing?”         “Not that bad.  Even with all that happened...the snake and the river between them saved us three or four days, I think.”         “I suppose I am grateful to them, then.”  He glanced down at his injured wing and side. “But I hope we will not have any more of these mixed blessings.”         “Me too.”  He’d taken the brunt of it in both instances, something she was guiltily grateful for.  But she’d rather nothing further happened; simply slogging through a hundred miles of swamp would be difficult enough without any more incidents.         She stowed the map again, letting the light of her horn dim slightly as she crunched down a cattail, swallowing the bland meal while Gerard snapped down morsels of his own food with no more eagerness than she.  He had his attention focused out past the closed tent flap, where things croaked and whined and trilled in the darkness, but he immediately fixed on her when she spoke his name.         “Gérard,” she said, giving voice to a question that had been simmering at the back of her mind for days.  “Who is Nerys?”  His ears went instantly flat and his tail lashed once before stilling.  The gold eyes, fixed on her face, slipped past her to gaze at something off in the distance.  The silence stretched out long enough that she was about to apologize for even asking when he spoke, his voice even deeper and more gravely than usual. “She was my wife.” “Oh.”  Rose didn’t dare say anything else, having stumbled onto something too painfully intimate to even look at. Gérard came to her rescue.  “Talk in my sleep, do I?” He asked, the wry humor in his voice halting her galloping anxiety in its tracks. “No, you -” She found her voice shaking for some reason, and calmed it.  “While you were sick.  But I couldn’t understand anything you said; it was all in gryphon.” “Thank Aquila for small favors,” Gérard chuckled.  “Who knows what nonsense I would have filled your ears with?” She gave him a smile in return, even if it was a bit wan.  “You know, if you do want to talk about it…” “Thank you, Rose,” he said tiredly.  “But not right now.” “Of course.”  She let it drop, but still watched him closely, torn between offering him comfort and leaving him be.  Despite the humor his entire body drooped, exhausted, but he took a breath and drew himself up, from the tips of his ears to the tuft of his tail, regaining his composure. Soon after, she let the light of her horn sputter out.  She wouldn’t have been able to hold it for much longer anyway, and even if she couldn’t give Gérard true privacy, in the darkness he’d at least have his face to himself. When she got out of the tent in the morning he showed no sign of upset, and if he was silent while she packed the tent that was no different than most other mornings.  Still, she felt that there was some slight distance between them, not so much pulling away from her as into himself.  Or maybe she was imagining it.  Beaks didn’t convey all that much expression, after all. The surroundings didn’t help.  The swamp remained grey and dull and oppressive, and not lifeless enough for comfort.  Now and again, rarely and without warning, a deep rumbling noise would come from something in the swamp, never close by but still close enough to keep her on edge.  “I wish I knew what that was,” she said, her hoof going again to the place where Sharp Eye’s pendant had been. “I may find out when I go hunting,” Gérard said.  “I will have to, tonight.” “Then I’ll try and get us somewhere less…”  She waved a hoof around at the dense, damp, hazy swamp.  “Difficult.” “Thank you, Rose.”  His voice held a note of surprise, tinged with something else.  She looked at him curiously and he tilted his head back in some purely avian gesture.  “You understood, and did not even hesitate with the offer,” he explained.  “Even though I have seen how much it upsets you when I return from a hunt.” “Well, you do have to eat.  I don’t object to that.”  But now that he’d mentioned it, it bothered her too.  Violence and death still made her shudder, and yet her mind had skipped right over that.  It didn’t change what she intended to do, of course, but it did make her feel a little less equine. “It seems not,” he agreed, checking his saddlebags as she cast about with both eyes and magic.  There had to be somewhere that was less drab and dreary, if only by a little.  But there weren’t many choices, and in the end she decided to take a path closer to the river, where hopefully they would at least be able to see more than thirty feet.  And would find out why it was so loud. Gérard fell in behind her as she made her careful way toward the sound of water.  She could barely trust the grass to hold up under her hooves, and the still surface of dark water on either side of her path held things she didn’t care to think about.  In hindsight, she almost preferred the honest mud from earlier. The buzzing of insects fell behind as they approached the river, driven away by the mist that drifted through the trunks.  It was as if they were approaching a waterfall, but she couldn’t see how that could be until they finally reached the edge of the trees, where the wind blew the mist away. The river was angry.