The air in the small lair under a blue spruce tree was heavy with heavy thoughts. Vsevolod's eyes, nearly unblinking, stared at the piece of red brick he collected before retiring for the night. This was the final piece of the puzzle of where he was all the last week, yet he seemed to miss most of the rest of the puzzle to go with it. He was in Moscow, he was camping literally three steps from the Kremlin wall, yet this Moscow was nothing like the city he knew. It wasn't like any city at all. It looked like it was abandoned for centuries. There were several possible explanations to that, ranging from insanity to inter-dimensional travel. None of the explanations were pleasant, none had an easy way out. Being honest, none had any way out. He had to learn to live in this new reality, or die. Sighing softly, he said goodbyes to his family and friends. No matter where he was, it wasn't like he was going to see them again - unless the same force that brought him in this frozen hell would bring them as well, and he was sure he won't want this fate even for his worst enemies. Slowly, he closed his claw on the brick until it broke into sand. As any product of human civilization left unattended for too long, the brick was brittle and useless. This night held no dreams for him.
The morning met him with what he first thought was an earthquake. A low rumble and rhythmic thumps shook the ground, shook the snow from the trees and scared flocks of birds out of their slumber. Vsevolod crawled out into the early morning light and blinked several times, trying to see the source of the noise. A deafening roar, louder than any sound he had ever heard, helped him in that. From under the hill that he assumed was the ruins of St. Basil's, a creature of a legend emerged. Technically, he was a creature of a legend himself, but this one dwarfed any other, quite literally.
The dragon was beyond huge. If the walls of Kremlin still stood at full height, it would've been easily able to look above them. Its wingspan covered half of the field that was Red Square once, and it was proudly displaying it all, raising its head to the rising sun and popping its joints with the sounds akin to cannon fire. Something this big couldn't possibly be alive, yet the monster before Vsevolod was most definitely alive in all of its fifty-meter long glory, with shining golden-brown scales and gleaming sharp spines on its back. Each spine was three times as long as Vsevolod whole, including the tail. Stretching a bit more, the dragon burped out a cloud of smoke, scratched its belly, yawned and suddenly said in plain Russian:
"Well, time for some breakfast, don't you think, mister Gorynych? Why, senior Gorynych, what a splendid idea! I think monsieur Gorynych will be happy to accompany us? You are indeed right, my dear Gorynych, I'll gladly do so!"
With that, the dragon flapped his wings and slowly flew away westwards, whistling a tune from an old Soviet movie. It took Vsevolod several minutes to finally close his beak. The flying reptile was, apparently, batshit insane. Still, he was the last griffin to deny a dragon its right for some personality quirks. Being on the creature's menu wasn't too endearing as well, so he carefully sneaked along the wall behind the St. Basil's dragon lair, and quickly trotted further south, trying to keep himself hidden under the trees. Now the reason of the animals being unfamiliar with the griffons in the area was clear - with such a behemoth, even the stupidest of predators will keep their distance.
His trot had brought him across the frozen river, and into the heavily forested area of its southern bank. The building remnants were here as well, but unlike the northern part of Moscow, these were much smaller and many trees grew right on top of them. The area was also much heavier populated by the wildlife. Flocks of different birds chirped in the treetops, the tracks in the show indicated heavy hare traffic, and thus, Vsevolod's attempts to be sneaky were quickly rewarded. The hare probably tried the trick its kind is famous for, when the hare attempts to hide right until the danger steps on it, jumping out and startling the predator long enough to escape. Its only miscalculation was in how fast the griffon is able to close its claw when startled. When Vsevolod calmed down from the scare, he had two neat half-hares for breakfast. Since his hunger was only partially sated by the yesterday meal, this was most welcome. Later that day he learned, that while him being half-bird allows him eating his prey whole, he also has to do what birds do with the stuff they can't digest. Still, it was better than being hungry, and for the first time in a week, his gait had something like a spring to it. He even took some time to try to preen his feathers before going to sleep that night.
He was about to embark yet again when the loud thud behind him indicated that he had a guest. Turning around, he found himself beak-to-beak with the very same griffin he saw in the sky several days ago. This close, he noticed, that the griffin was nearly a head taller than him, and unlike his sorry self, was a picture of health. The creature eyed him carefully, tilted its head and produced soft birdlike chirp.
"Sorry, I can't understand you," answered Vsevolod, trying not to startle the griffin with a sudden movement. If his claws were of any indication of griffin strength, he didn't want to get on its bad side. The catbird in front of him backed away on his words, lifted its right claw and chirped again, this time, clearly confused.
"Still can't understand. Are you sure you don't speak any other language?"
"Squeak?" squeaked the griffin, pawing the air with the claw. "Squeak! Screeeeeech! Gak! Gak!"
All the sounds were so animalistic, that Vsevolod's last hope at communications shattered like an icicle. This griffon wasn't sapient. Well, at least, it was friendly enough not to claw his spine out.
"I'm sure whatever you want to say is important," he said to the griffon, "but unless you can speak Russian, I really can't understand you, and I really need to go. Drop in in the evening, we might chat then. Fine?"
"Squack! Kia!" the griffin shook itself and, with a little running start, flew away. Vsevolod shrugged and turned south, unfolding his own wings. There was no point in missing his exercise, no matter how pointless it looked. He already made several attempts to fly, but his wings were doing about as good job in lifting him as he would've expected from their size. Yet, his new friend seemed to have no problem flying, so there should've been some trick to it he hasn't found yet. The only way to find was to try - so he marched, flapped his wing and even sung a song.
The day was going as any other day before it, but when the sun started to set and he started to look for the shelter, he heard wingbeats, and in a few moments, the feral griffin plopped in the snow nearby. It dropped large partridge before him, pushed it with its claw and looked at him expectantly. He also pushed the dead bird, not understanding, what the griffon intended for him to do with it. He could've sworn the catbird rolled its eyes at him, crouched and imitated tearing the partridge apart with its beak, then moved it to him again.
"You want me to eat it? Really? Thanks! That's the nicest thing someone did for me, you know. It's hard to find food when all you can do is walk moderately fast!" With that, he attempted to grab the bird with his beak. But the moment he was about to touch it, lightning-fast claw grabbed it and moved out of his reach.
"Squee!" said the griffon, looking at him with a hint of a smirk in its eye.
"You are evil catbird, just so you know," Vsevolod informed his tormentor, trying yet again to grab the partridge. This time it was also moved out of his way the last moment.
"Kek! Kek! Kerrrk!" said the griffon, looking innocent.
"All right, mister Griffin, not funny!" growled Vsevolod, getting irritated. This time he lunged after the food with his own claws, but with seemingly no effort at all, it was yet again out of his grasp. That did it. He roared in defiance and started to chase elusive partridge using all the speed and agility he had acquired during his long hike. It seemed to be just enough to fail few hair widths short of grabbing the food, to the visible amusement of the native. When Vsevolod was ready to give up, suddenly his next jump brought him right on top of the partridge. Griffin moved away from him and squeaked something encouraging. After such a workout that even made the cold go away, he didn't need any more encouragement. He clawed the bird apart and nearly inhaled it. It felt good, better than just receiving it as a gift. He looked at his friend with a new understanding.
"Thank you, kind stranger. If you ever need any help, I'm in your debt. Not like you really understand me... you know, I don't even know your name! I'm Vsevolod, and you are...?" to emphasize the meaning of his words, he pointed at himself and then on the griffon. The griffon looked at him confused, then shook its head and repeated his gestures.
"Vree-vok! Heel-ha!"
"Helha? Helga? Hmm... all right, Helga it is. I'll call you Hel, for short, if it's alright with you?"
"Hel! Hel! Heel-ha!"
With this said, newly named Helga took off and disappeared in a flurry of snow.