//------------------------------//
// 6: Miðgarðr 
// Story: Fimbulvetr 
// by Alkarasu 
//------------------------------//

The sleigh was creaking softly under a heavy load, and it was the perfect music to go with the thoughts of the stallion pulling it. His thoughts were about yet another day of work well done, of the many families that won't have to freeze because of this. They were of the plans for the next day of woodcutting. The usual stuff that filled the head of the proud scion of a proper earth pony family on daily basis. His thoughts were always slow, through and grounded. It is proper for an heir to the long and proud line, in which every elder son was a stallion providing everypony with warmth during the long winter and kept their stoves running all year-round. Teplovoz was never a dreamer, that would've been improper. He always was the most reliable stallion around, though, like his father before him, like his father before him, down to the dynasty founder, who made something called 'nuclear turbines' for a living before the world became proper. Despite his  young age, he was already a respected member of the little community. He moved into it when he was considered old enough to live on his own. That, of course, was in no little part the result of the fact that he was the first to rise in the morning, the last to go to sleep, and was never seen shirking from the work. That also meant that if something happened when everypony else was asleep, it usually was his problem to solve.

So, when the unconscious griffin cub rolled down the hill and stopped by the village border, it was Teplovoz who spotted it. He looked down at the body at his hooves, and with a sigh wiggled out of the harness. The firewood could wait, no one would steal it in the middle of the forest, but the griffin couldn't.

"The second time this month alone!" The stallion's grumble was not stopping him from checking the griffin for life signs, but his irritation had to vent. "Why, why would you do that? Everypony knows that it's dangerous. Every griffin teaches their cubs  not to do it. And yet here you are, alive, thank Archive, yet nearly not!" Sighing, he hauled the limp form of a cub onto his back and ran for his home.

===

Warm. So... so warm.

The warmth was everywhere, it pierced his body, it soothed his mind, and it drew all the nightmares away. He thought that it must be Helga again - why else would he be warm all of a sudden? She must've lost the elks and caught up with him. He wanted to open his eyes and look, but it was so comfortable to just lay there in the warmth... Vsevolod curled under the blanket and allowed the sleep to claim him.

The stallion at his bedside huffed and relaxed. This grifflet wasn't going to die on him. That was good. Telling his parents that he was too late to save their son was not proper, despite the cub's foolishness never being the stallion's fault. He told such news to too many already. Every year winter had claimed its toll on griffins youth's stupidity. Not this time, though. With that thought, he climbed on his own bed, giving the sleeping griffin the last checking look, and went to sleep. Tomorrow he had more work than usual.

Vsevolod woke up with the first rays of morning sun, like he did every day since the winter started. He rose from under the blankets, blinking at the light. The window of the room he was in was pointing east, so that it could welcome the first rays of the morning. He was so relaxed and rested, that it took him good several minutes to register that he wasn't in his usual makeshift lair under a tree. Around him was the real room of a real house. A real blanket covered him. He was resting on still warm surface of something that could only be the real Russian stove. He paused to take that in.

Then he screamed.

His scream woke the other occupant of the room, the one sleeping soundly on a large bed in the corner. A big brown head with a mop of bright red hair on top emerged from under a blanket. Huge blue eyes groggily examined the screaming griffin. Vsevolod had looked at the monster before him, inhaled and screamed again. The terrifying head winced and shook from the vocal assault, and then its owner climbed out of the bed completely. Vsevolod gave out a third scream. This one was nowhere near as scared as the first two, more surprised and uncertain. What stood before him wasn't looking like a terrible monster. It looked almost like a horse. Of course, if you accept horses with legs as thick as a log, short barrel, huge head and incredibly humongous eyes as possible. Vsevolod wasn't the one to deny the creature its existence, though. Not while he had a tail and a beak of his own. Yet, he wasn't able to remember how his escape from the killer elk had led him to sleeping in the same room as an alien horse.  

Teplovoz sighed, looking at the screaming catbird over the edge of his facehoof. Every single time it went exactly this way. The late evening rescue, the night in the warmth of his home, and the terrible scream in the morning. He was already expecting the usual jokes of his neighbors about what he's doing to the griffins that makes them scream so much and that they don't want to discuss with anypony. In a village this small it was hard to get decent entertainment, so gossip mill worked non-stop. 

The griffin, seemingly tired of screaming, was looking at the stallion incredulously, like he had never seen a pony before. Teplovoz rolled his eyes, and went to the next step of the ritual. It was usually not that hard to calm down a grifflet once he stopped screaming, all that was needed is to introduce himself, and promise that his parents will come to fetch him shortly.

"Good morrow to you, young hunter!" rumbled the stallion, offering the cub a hoof. "I hope your Great Hunt went well and your parents would not be ashamed with its outcome!"

He knew, that griffins fresh out of the forest were usually quite skittish and easily spooked, but the reaction of his recent find wasn't going traditionally at all. Instead of taking the offered hoof, the cub screamed in terror and jumped in the opposite direction from it, jamming himself in the corner of the room. Pony's attempts to close the distance and calm the kid was met with a vicious swipe of the claw and a threatening hiss. There was one possible reason for such a reaction, but Teplovoz wasn't happy to confirm it.

"Would you happen to be one of the Wild?" he asked, thinking about all the pain in the flank it would be to safely toss a feral out of the house. He only had to do it once before, and the scars of that morning were still visible on his coat. He could, of course, just call an exterminator from the elk tribe, but he knew they'll ruin his house in the process. That also meant the death sentence for the griffin, and Teplovoz wasn't happy about that. He had always hated the Wild ones, everypony did. It was proper. Killing, on the other hoof, was not.

Vsevolod slowly calmed down from the shock of the alien horse creature talking. The words sounded a lot like Russian, but the phrases themselves weren't making much sense. The first part had to do something with hunting in the morning. The second sounded like a good-natured declaration that his parents would hunt him out of great shame, caused by him being way too young. Why would the creature wish something this crazy to him? What was going on? While his brain was trying to process that, his eyes darted around the room, trying to find an escape route. The horse creature was blocking the path to the door, but the window was in the other direction, and if he could be just fast enough...

His body sprung to action before he was able to successfully formulate his escape plan. Throwing the blanket in the face of the enemy, he darted to the window and slammed into the muddy glass with a loud 'thud'. The window rattled a bit, but remained closed and whole. Feeling the seconds slip away and his possible doom working its way out of the blanket, he fumbled about the frame, looking for a way to open it. His efforts were rewarded when he spotted a latch, big, sturdy and tied with a piece of string. Not even thinking about it, he pulled his keys from the pouch that was still hanging on his neck, and sliced the string, throwing the window wide open. His jump to the freedom, however, was cut short when his tail was yanked backwards, sending him tumbling back into the room. The strong hit to the back of his head knocked him out.

Teplovoz was shocked. He knew ferals were smart, but he also knew how far those smarts went. The ferals knew why do they have talons and how to use them to rend almost anything. Rumors said that they can slice through the steel armor, if pissed off enough. No feral in history was able to use tools, they had simply no need for that. This required investigation. Investigation required the griffin to remain contained. The winter required the window to be closed at all times. The stallion sighed and went to close it. When he turned back to check on the griffin, the cub was already trying to throw the door latch open. Thankfully, this one was made by an earth pony for an earth pony, it was about twice as heavy as the malnourished griffin. 

Vsevolod knew that this was it. The huge and hostile horse creature just locked the only way out of the room he could possibly open, and was closing on him with the clear harmful intention. No matter what, he was just too small, winning this fight wasn't an option. Of course, he intended to fight to the last breath, but he knew that it would come way too soon. It was ironic how he survived the impossible odds of the dead frozen city, to be murdered by a herbivore. He had the worst luck with herbivores, it seemed. In any case, it was the time for the last words.

"I don't know why you hate me so much," he told the horse, "but I will make sure you will regret every second of it."

With that he had crouched, spread his wings a bit and prepared to pounce. The horse creature looked at him in shock, and then sat on its rump with a thud. It shook its head, scratched at its mane with a hoof, and then asked in plain, if a bit accented, Russian.

"You not Wild one?"