//------------------------------//
// Expect The Worst 
// Story: Cartography of War 
// by Daetrin 
//------------------------------//

        Gérard’s full and overfull saddlebags, not to mention the bundles of dried meat they both carried on their backs, let them make better time over the next few days, even with the burn slowing Rose’s steps.  She didn’t need to wait the interminable hours for him to return from hunting, and he seemed to shake an edge of fatigue he’d borne since the beginning.  The price was the tent smelling of dried meat every night, but that was better than Gérard reeking of fresh death.

        During the days they spoke Alce.  Rose wasn’t sure whether to credit her facility at the gryphon language to Gérard’s teaching, her learning, or the lack of distractions from the task.  The terrain was open now, and broken here and there by sandstone outcrops leading to the rusty red tor to the south, which let her focus more on Gérard and the language than the ground underhoof.  Though her tongue still tangled on some of the more intricate words, she had enough understanding that Gérard could talk to her entirely in Alce, without resorting to Equestrian to fill in gaps.

        “I always wanted to be a warrior, even when I was very young,” he told Rose.  “Though I think most cubs do.  I hadn’t really done any fighting then, but I imagined myself as Gywnd the Golden, or Arawn Halfpaw.”

        “Halfpaw?  That’s an odd nickname.” She tilted her head to look over at him.  Her burn still grumbled at the movement, but it was more of an ache than the sharp stab of the first day or two.

        “Well, he lost two talons of his right forepaw to the jaws of a cirein-cròin that had swallowed three ships of his fleet.  It was a noble enough injury, once he had killed it and hauled it back to shore. So I’d curl up two talons and pretend, running around the halls of my parent’s manor.”  He waved his paw at her in demonstration.

        “I imagine you were a terror.”  Rose grinned, finding it somehow quite easy to imagine a tiny Gérard bouncing off the walls in pursuit of some imaginary monster.  Possibly literally so, if gryphon cubs started flying as young as pegasus foals did.

        “So my mother said,” he agreed.  “In fact, one time - actually, I probably should not tell you this.”  His eyes glinted again, the corners crinkling with humor.

        “More secrets?” She smiled back at him.

        “Nothing like that.  It may simply damage my image of perfect dignity and grace.”  He winked at her, and she laughed.

        “Well now you have to tell me.”  Rose narrowed her eyes.  “I won’t let you get away with teasing me like that.”

        “I would not hope not.”  Gérard ruffled his wings and looked upward, remembering.  “It was a particularly bad winter, so we were stuck inside, Kree and Harrun and I.  That’s General Harrun now,” he added as an aside.  “Of the three of us, I think he came closest to actually being a hero.

        “Regardless, it was windy and snowing and I am afraid it was my idea to take some of the old talon-sheaths off the wall.  They didn’t fit us, of course, but that hardly seemed to matter at the time.”  He snorted.  “At least we had enough sense to not fight each other with them.  No, we wanted to be Arawn Halfpaw and his elite crew, hunting sea monsters like in the stories.  Of course, the manor had a remarkable lack of sea monsters.  It did, however, have fish.”

        “Oh, no.”  She tried and failed to suppress a grin.  It was less the story, though she could see where it was going, as the tone of voice. It was rich, conspiratorial, and possessed a simple joy that all the hardships hadn’t dulled.  It sounded good on him.

        “Fortunately for the koi, the pond was outside and frozen over.  But we did have barrels and barrels of smoked cod.  Since I am certain you are not familiar with that, they are quite large.  About the same size as us, at that age.  So we took turns climbing into the barrel and throwing fish at each other, waving around these old, oversized talon-sheaths…”

        Rose giggled.  Though it was strange to imagine Kree as being cute, it was easy enough for Gérard and the mental image of three gryphon cubs hurling fish at each other was completely ridiculous.  “And nobody interrupted you?”

        “Well, it was a sleepy, cozy evening.  The adults were, I think, glad for the quiet.  Of course, it didn’t stop there.  Little bits of fish all over the floor and us was bad enough, but for some reason Harrun decided to open the window.  For the wind, I believe.  But regardless, the cold and snow came swirling in and melted.  And the wet turned all of that into mush.”  His eyes twinkled.  “And then, after we got bored and left, window still open, it froze to the floor.”

        “Eww.”  Rose wrinkled her muzzle.  She had more of an idea of what meat was like after Gérard had taken care of the pig carcass, but her imagination still failed her when it came to the scene he described.

        “Yes.  When we were found out, eventually, and after we had gotten all the fish bits out of our fur, we had to scrape the floor clean.”  He snorted.  “Swabbing the decks, I believe mother called it.”

        “That sounds like my dad,” Rose said.  “He always had some comment when I got into trouble with my friends.”

        “You, get into trouble?” Gérard’s ears flipped back, then forward, and he canted his head at her.  “Surely you jest.”

        She snorted.  “Well, foals will be foals. You’re going to insist on a story from me, aren’t you?”

        “It would be only fair,” he agreed.

        “Well.”  She considered it as she picked her way across a shallow stream, hooves striking the rocks.  “There was the incident with the maples, that one time.”

        “Do tell.”

        “Well, you have your heroes...when I was a foal, mine was Distant Shores.  He was the first pony to set hoof in Zebrica, and Saddle Arabia.  He spent a lot of time sailing, like your Arawn, but it was for exploration.”

        “That seems appropriate to your talents,” Gérard murmured.

        “Oh, I was always interested in that sort of thing, even before I got my mark.  Besides, my village had so much forest and mountain around it there was plenty of room to lose yourself for an afternoon or so.  And I’d go out all the time with my friends.”

        “Goldy?” He asked.  “Or Mercy?”

        “No, I didn’t meet any of them until the war started.”  She shook her head.  “Mint Spear and Dawn Shade were the ones I grew up with.  Earth pony and unicorn.  But they had their own lives, and they left years ago, well before I did.  But when we were foals we were practically inseparable.”

        She skirted a lone pine, growing crookedly from a dip in the landscape.  “It was spring, and for whatever reason we were out playing in the maples.  In fact the name of the village is Maple Woods, since we make so much syrup.  And in the spring the sap rises and we tap it into buckets.  So imagine three foals running through rows and rows of trees with buckets full of maple sap hanging from them.”

        “A recipe for disaster.”  His beak clicked.  “At least, so far as child-created disasters go.”

        “Not immediately,” she said.  “We did know not to upset the buckets.  But that didn’t mean we stopped climbing trees in order to survey the land ahead or racing about like madmares in pursuit of some clue or another.  So Mints was the Distant Shores of the moment, halfway up one of the trees and directing us two on the hunt for the lost civilization of the Crystal Kingdom.  Which was last seen hundreds of miles to the north, but that didn’t stop us.”

        “Nor should it,” her replied.  “Wonder and hope are at least as important as cold reality.”

        His comment made her pause for a moment, but it seemed to be no more than offhoof eloquence or another nugget of gryphon philosophy.  Though it seemed ponylike enough to her.  “I don’t think there’s much difference to foals.  Even if we didn't find it, pretending we did was good enough.  I don’t remember what we were celebrating, that never stuck with me.  I do remember though that Mints was bouncing on a tree branch and slipped straight off, right down into a half-full bucket.  It made more of a blub than a splash.”

        “And I suppose you ran to her rescue?”  His voice was rich with amusement, though she hadn’t gotten anywhere near the denouement.

        “Oh, no need.  The bucket slipped straight off the tree and slid down the hill on the last remnants of the spring ice, leaving a trail of sap behind it.  Minty crawled out giggling and hiccuping and covered in sap and of course we thought that looked incredibly fun.  So Dawn and I went to get our own buckets.”

        “Of course.”  Gérard’s tail flicked idly back and forth.  “Fun is a clear mandate.”

        She looked at him suspiciously, but couldn’t tell how much he was joking.  “Dawn’s bucket was also half-full, but mine had filled up nearly all the way when I jumped in.  I wasn’t expecting it to be so...sticky, and since there was more it soaked me more than the others.  And it went further.  In fact, it went all the way into a leaf pile nobody had cleaned up.”

        “Worse than fish bits?”

        “Maybe.”  Rose snorted.  “Of course Minty and Dawn joined me and in about twenty seconds we were just foal-shaped blobs of leaves and twigs and dirt.  But we didn’t go in until the sap had dried enough that it was actually becoming uncomfortable to walk.  And then, talk about lectures!  And a bath to end all baths.”

        Gérard chuckled, a deep, throaty rumble that she could almost feel despite the distance between them.  “The troubles of simple times.  Children, it seems, are alike all over.”

        “Well, not completely.  I don’t think you’d find many foals hurling fish at each other.”

        “There is that,” he agreed.  “We are hunters even as cubs, and you are something else.”

        “Well, ‘something else’ is at least better than prey,” she laughed.

        He tilted his head at her, golden eyes twinkling.  “If you refuse to be predator and refuse to be prey, then you are stuck with it.”

        “I think you’ll need to just call us ponies.  Unless you want to call us all - what was it you called me way back when?  Unnatural and strange?”  She raised her eyebrows at him.

        “In my defense,” Gérard said mildly.  “I was not in the best state of mind.”

        “You’re forgiven,” she said, smiling.

        “That is a relief,” he said, his tone as light as hers, but then he sobered.  “I have had a thought, Rose.  I know it is still some days until we reach the camp, but how long until we reach that line of forward posts?”

        She blinked and took out her maps, finding the line of their travel was uncomfortably close to the theoretical line of attack that Kree would take.  It must have been talk of Kree that reminded him.  “Not long.  Maybe tomorrow.”

        “Perhaps earlier,” he opined.  “If the scouts spot us.  I doubt they are patrolling properly.  There aren’t enough of them.  But it is something we need to be prepared for.”

        She swallowed.  “Prepared how?”

        “First, this.”  He stopped and reached into his own saddlebags, retrieving the box he had been carrying, still wrapped in oilcloth.  “Until I know how things stand, I would rather someone who is neither predator nor prey carry it.  I cannot tell you what it is, but I would ask that you hold it until I am certain it is safe to return it.”

        “Of course.”  She took the box from him, which was as oddly heavy as she remembered.  Of course she couldn’t ask what was in it, so she asked the next best thing.  “Why wouldn’t it be safe for you to have it?”

        Gérard sighed.  “It is possible that the first scout we meet will try to execute me as a traitor.  I do not think it is likely, but if it happens the camp will not be safe for you.”

        “Or for you!” She protested, her stomach tightening at his words.  “You can’t return if they mean to kill you.”

        “Perhaps not.”  He rubbed at his beak.  “But even if that is not the case, a guest is afforded privileges and amenities a soldier is not.  Whether or not he is a commander.”

        “You’re afraid someone will take it?”

        “Yes.  I know I can trust you to hold it and not open it.  I do not think that is true for any gryphon at the camp.”

        She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Someday you’re going to tell me what’s in that box and what your mission was.  It isn’t fair to tease me like this.”

        He laughed, though quietly.  “When all this is over, gladly.  Until then I do not think the world will be fair to any of us.”

        They forewent a fire that night.  Neither of them wanted to attract the attention of a stray gryphon when they were not at all prepared.  Not that Rose could imagine ever being truly ready for it.  She had come to know Gérard and like him, but found it difficult to extend that to gryphons she hadn’t yet met, especially ones that might be intent on killing Gérard, or her.

        When they set out again, Gérard was quiet, his ears swiveling back and forth and his eyes on the sky.  There were patches of cloud here and there, but the deep blue of morning was mostly unobstructed, and she found her own eyes studying it for some speck that wasn’t a bird.  Not that she expected to see anything before he did.

        As the day stretched on, she began to think that perhaps Kree hadn’t set up the posts, or even worse, the gryphons had left and there was nothing and no one within hundreds of miles.  But just as the sun reached its zenith Gérard stopped abruptly, cocking his head.  “There is someone,” he whispered.

        “Do you know who?”  She whispered back, straining her eyes and ears for some hint of the other gryphon.

        He shook his head.  “We’ll have to find out.  I want you to take cover downwind just in case.”

        Her throat tightened.  “All right,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry.  She hesitated a moment, then reached out to put a hoof on his shoulder.  “Be careful, Gérard.”

        “I shall do what I can,” he said, suddenly still.

        “Not good enough,” she said, pressing her muzzle against his shoulder, scratchy and hard and not at all like a pony’s.  “Stay safe.  Please.”

        “If you ask like that, I suppose I must,” he said, his voice suddenly thick.  His talons brushed through her mane and rested lightly on her own shoulder, the points as sharp as ever but no longer threatening.  “Go take shelter, Rose.  We will see who I call down.”

        She pulled away reluctantly, trotting over to crouch down in the grass by a stand of trees and tearing off hunks of grass to cover her colors and break up her form.  It was a technique of Gérard’s, though she certainly wasn’t waiting in ambush for whoever might drop from the sky.  She kept an eye on the horizon, though, and her muscles stayed tense. Gérard tilted his head back, took a breath, and let out a piercing avian cry, nothing in Alce, just an earsplitting gryphonic sound.  Then he waited, and she watched the horizon to the east, waiting for one of the specks to turn into a gryphon silhouette.

        One did.  A figure of white and tawny brown sped into view, circled, and then dropped down to land in front of Gérard with easy grace, ears focused forward as he stared at the other gryphon.  “Wing-Captain!” He said, his Alce sounding far more guttural than Gérard’s.  “You’re alive!”

        “Should I not be?” Gérard’s voice was friendly and dangerous all at once, a tone that had never been directed at her even at the very beginning.  “Report, Scout Veshas.  What are you doing out here?”

        Veshas straightened to attention.  “Patrolling Advance Posts Four, Five, and Six, sir.  As ordered.”

        Gérard didn’t look in Rose’s direction, but the swish of his tail betrayed his satisfaction at having guessed right.  “As ordered by Kree?”

        “Yes, sir.  Wing-Captain Kree.”

        “So I thought.  And how did Wing-Captain Kree explain my absence?  As well as that of Grizelda and Arvel and Glyn?  An entire half of a wing?”

        “Sir.  He said your interpretation of our orders was...questionable, and he removed you from command when you refused to attack a small pony force.  The others were killed in the fight.”

        “Well, that is not entirely inaccurate.” Gérard clicked his beak.  “But I will have to discuss that with Kree.”

        “Yes, sir.”  Veshas seemed more than ready to pawn Gérard off on someone else.  “Come with me, sir.”  He spread his wings, but stopped as Gérard shook his head.

        “I am grounded, Veshas.”  He spread his own wings in demonstration, and the right one drooped.  “Where is your wingmate?”

        “Patrolling the other forward posts, sir.”  The scout’s voice had changed slightly, becoming more stiff and formal.  Gérard had said that scouts, like all gryphon military, were meant to work in pairs.  Veshas probably wasn’t happy he’d been split from his partner.

        “Then go get him,” Gérard instructed.  “It will take both of you to carry us back to command.”

        “Us, sir?”

        “Yes.”  He nodded in Rose’s direction, and she stood up, walking toward Veshas, shedding grass and hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

        Veshas’ attention locked on her in a more hungry version of Gérard’s focus.  “You brought prey with you?”

        “I am not prey,” she said, even managing a credibly level tone as she advanced on them, and behind Veshas she saw the corners of Gérard’s eyes wrinkle with good humor.

        “Indeed not,” he said.  “She is my companion and guest.  We have journeyed together and hunted together.  I will vouch for her.”

        For a moment it looked like Veshas would protest, but then he glanced back at Gérard and collected his composure again.  “Yes, sir.  I’ll be back with Tarn as soon as possible.”  He gave Rose another look, mingled confusion and contempt and curiosity, and took to the air.

        “You had me worried about that!” She accused him.  “But he didn’t even shout.”

        “Well.  One of the warriors would have been more difficult.  Or even Tarn.  But Veshas cares little for either Kree or myself and certainly would not risk himself on Kree’s account.  It does help that Kree did not anticipate my reappearance.”

        “It’s been a month,” Rose pointed out.  “Why would he have thought you’d be coming back?”

        “He knows me.” Gérard looked to the sky.  “Tch.  He should know better than to separate the scouts, too.  I suspect controlling the camp may be more than he is capable of.”

        “You did mention he wasn’t good at command.”  Rose sat down next to Gérard, watching the dwindling figure of Veshas.  “So what are you going to do?”

        “Take back control from Kree.  And then…”  He sighed.  “Go home, I think.  There is little we can do here, now.  And perhaps there is some good to be done at the front.”

        “You’d go back to fighting ponies?” She stared at him.  He couldn’t possibly mean it that way.

        Gérard’s ears drooped, and he rubbed slowly at his beak.  “I would rather not.  I was thinking appropriate lines of retreat, and terms of surrender.”

        “Of course.”  Rose put a reassuring hoof back on his shoulder.  Even after all this time she could only guess at what that meant for him.  His own surrender, so many years ago, had to weigh heavily on his mind.  But she thought they’d both be glad to see the war over.

        He tilted his head slightly to peer at her.  “A warning,” he said.  “Tarn’s wife was killed very early in the war.  He is here because he had difficulty following orders at the front.”

        “Oh.”  Her ears flattened.  That didn’t bode well for the next meeting.  “I’ll try not to provoke him.”

        “Merely being here would be enough.  You should be safe, but I will not risk having him carry you back to camp.”

        She’d caught the implication earlier, but she hadn’t really thought about it.  The idea of relying on a gryphon that wasn’t Gérard to fly her into a gryphon camp didn’t have much appeal, but of course she had to.  It would cut days off their journey.  “At least Veshas doesn’t seem to hate me.”

        “I suspect that is as much you can hope for.  They are soldiers and you are the enemy.  But you are not a soldier yourself, and a guest.  It will be difficult for you both.”

        “I know.”  She nodded, then the corners of her muzzle twisted upward.  “But isn’t that the gryphon way?”

        He laughed.  “Do not tell them that.  They might take it the wrong way.”

        It didn’t take long for Veshas to return with another gryphon in tow.  Tarn was black and a dark, deep blue, much larger than Gérard, and his sharp eyes fixed on her the moment he landed.  “What is it doing here?” He demanded flatly.  “Where did you even get it?”

        “My name is Compass Rose,” she said firmly, but he ignored her, rounding on Gérard.

        “You’re gone for a month and you come back with a piece of meat as a guest?”  His ears were flattened against his skull, his wings half-spread.  “And you teach it our tongue? Have you finally gone insane?”

        “She has been my guide,” Gérard said calmly.  “She has more than earned my respect.”

        “She!?”  Tarn snapped his beak, an unpleasant gesture that Rose had never seen before.  “Maybe it’s just been so long for you that you’ve been reduced to trying to mate what you eat.”

        “Tarn!” Gérard’s voice was cold, icy. Veshas took a step back even though the tone wasn’t directed at him.  Rose found herself blushing furiously.  “This does not become you, Scout Tarn.  She is a civilian and a guest.  Would you treat a gryphon this way?”

        “It’s not a gryphon!” Tarn roared.

        “But you are,” Gérard said in frigid disapproval.  “Has your hatred burned out your honor and your dignity?  Are you prepared to make yourself worse than me?”

        Tarn stared at Gérard for a long moment, then folded his wings as he visibly brought himself under control.  “No,” he said.  “Sir.”

        “I understand you, Tarn.” Gérard’s voice held weary memory.  “I will not ask more of you than you can give.  All you need do is keep a civil tongue in your head and your talons to yourself.”

        “Yes, sir,” Tarn said, his voice hard and contemptuous.

        “And you and Veshas need to take us to the camp.  I am grounded and she is no pegasus.”

        “Yes, sir,” Tarn repeated, clearly unenthusiastic about the idea.

        Gérard’s eyes glinted.  “I am sure Kree has had you flying patrols for nearly a month now.  Even with that, surely your wings can bear such an old and crippled soldier as myself.”

        Tarn grunted, but dipped his shoulder for Gérard.  Rose took a breath and approached Veshas.  “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

        He cocked his head at her, brows furrowed.  “I suppose so,” he said cautiously, confusion evident in his voice.  She clearly wasn’t acting as he expected, but she took that as a good sign.  So long as she didn’t act like prey, there was some safety.  He crouched down, and she climbed onto his back, clinging to the ruff of his mane as he launched himself into the air after Tarn.

        The wind whistled past her ears, and she kept her eyes fixed on the smudge of Gérard and Tarn ahead of them.  Her stomach was tight, both from the height and the close presence of a gryphon that didn’t seem to even recognize her as a person. Yet, some minutes into the flight his voice came floating back.  “So the old man taught you Alce?”

        “It seemed a good idea.  It wouldn’t be fair to Gérard if he always had to talk for me.”  She considered for a moment, then added something more honest.  “And I’d rather know what you were saying about me.”

        Veshas barked a laugh.  “You may regret that.  You’ll find no love for ponies among us.”

        “I know. I’m the enemy to you.  But gryphons can still respect an enemy.”

        “One worth respecting.  But you?”

        “You’re talking to me.  That’s a start.”

        Veshas tilted his head slightly, glancing back at her, then grunted and flew on in silence.