He was having that dream again. He was soaring high in the skies, gliding across the air without a care. The wind guided him and he lazily flew, his mind taking in the cool breeze. The sky above was still blue and the grasslands below were still green. The only thing that was different was a single oak that stood tall upon the ocean of grass, its branches extending outward like a vein. He slowly drifted downward, stopping near the foot of the tree. He saw that it had wondrous fruit of many kinds. He grabbed the nearest one with his hoof and began inspecting it. It was an ordinary red apple that shined in the sunlight. He promptly took a bite and he tasted sweet nectar. With each bite of the apple, his taste buds were elated and he was filled with utter bliss.
“Quicksilver.”
A voice came from his side and he turned. There was another pony in the distance, standing under another tall oak, separated by an endless field. He stared for a time and could tell that the pony had a blue coat and purple mane. He tilted his head slightly; he thought for sure he recognized the pony.
“Quicksilver.”
The pony spoke again, this time even clearer. His eyes widened. It was his sister, Silverwing. He began running towards her, calling out her name. However, the further he ran the further she seemed to move away. He was galloping now, his lungs heaving, but despite his efforts, the distance between them only grew and she was moving away from him. He tried flapping his wings, but soon found that they were both broken, dragging behind him like heavy plows. He called to her, screaming that he was there. However, she soon vanished, and the tree she stood under disappeared altogether. He stopped, breathing heavily and with tears streaming down his face.
“Silverwing,” he said as his tears fell onto the grass below. As soon as he said her name, the landscape around him turned white, and then he woke up.
****
Quicksilver had awoken, and he felt a cold air surrounding him. He shuddered slightly from the unexpected breeze. He cracked an eye open and saw that he was in a tent, and that the flap was blowing in cool air several feet away. He was lying on his right side, his body covered in some sort of blanket. He blinked a few times and pulled the blanket closer, trying to keep himself as warm as possible.
“Finally, you're awake,” a feminine voice said. He opened his eyes a little more and turned his head to the voice, seeing a griffon sitting by his side. The griffon had white feathers, same as the other griffons he had met. The griffon also had a brown body and red around the eyes and tips of the feathers. The only difference was that the color was a deeper shade of red, almost contrasting his blue coat. He observed the griffon for a moment, wondering how long it has been sitting there.
“Here, drink this.” The griffon offered a wineskin and his eyes widened in realization at what he was staring at. The griffon was a hen, a female of the griffons. He never saw a hen before, yet didn’t think he would see one in person. The female griffon, compared to the male one’s, was a bit small in height. Although, when comparing his height, she was obviously a few inches to a head taller than him. The longer he stared at her, the more she grew irritated.
“Are you going to sit here gawking or do you want the wineskin?” she asked again, annoyed. He looked at what she held and saw the leather pouch before him. His mouth felt so dry and he eyed it with a deep thirst. He nodded his head to the hen and rose himself up out of the confines of the blanket. He felt his body shuddered from the warmth escaping him as she placed the wineskin at his side. He grabbed it with his hoofs and uncorked the top and began drinking the liquid down. Cool fresh water ran down his throat, soothing his dry mouth with ease. He was drinking at such a quick pace that he didn’t realize he was choking. He spat out the wineskin and began coughing fast. Every time he breathed in with each breath, another coughing fit would erupt from him; he never even realized how thirsty he was.
“Take it easy. You're shouldn’t overdo yourself,” the hen said, her annoyance ever present. When he finally calmed himself and was breathing normally once again, he took the wineskin and drank at a slower pace. When he stopped for another breath, he turned to the annoyed hen.
“Never thought I see a griffon showing compassion,” he said with a small smile, causing the hen to laugh at him. He was not expecting such a response and his smile slowly retreated.
“You ponies still use that demeaning word,” she said as her laughter subsided, bearing a smug look on her face. “The proper word that we call ourselves is ‘Gryphon’s’, not ‘Griffon’s’,” she corrected, her face remaining the same. Quicksilver remained silent as he pondered her words. Normally the word griffon was always used in Equestrian society and that it was the norm to call them that. He didn’t even know if it was taboo to even refer them to that, or he might even be overthinking this.
“Also,” she added, distracting his thoughts, “I’m only helping because I was told to help you. Don’t mistake my charity for kindness and friendship. We are not the same, and we are not friends; make no mistake. You're still my enemy, and I will end you if you pose a threat to me or to my clan. You can count on that.” She finished, her golden eyes staring down at him, almost feeling as if she was piercing into his soul. Quicksilver’s ears flattened to the side of his head and he backed his head somewhat. Somehow the females were more intimidating than the males. As he carefully took another swig from the wineskin, the griffon (or gryphon) was grabbing something from the side. He watched as she pulled out a small bowl that had some sort of soup and a small piece of bread. The sight of the food made his stomach grumble and he swallowed the lump of water in his throat.
“I… I guess that’s for me?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. The response was a quick growl from the gryphon. He instantly went silent and his body almost jumped in surprise, pushing the blanket off him. He cringed slightly at this because of his left wing went out and the bones in his wings refused to respond. He looked down at his wound and feared that it would become permanent. He also took notice of the small cuts and scratches along his body, with a few differences. He noticed small bandages along his body, covering the more needed areas and leaving the small cuts to heal on their own. How they got there in the first place was uncertain to him, yet he didn’t rule out the hen having a claw in this. His wounds would eventually heal in time, but most likely the bigger ones will leaves scars on his side and chest.
“I see that your wing has not healed,” the gryphon hen observed, setting the food off to the side and standing up in her full height. Quicksilver looked up and was able to take in the full size. Indeed she was taller than him, her wings stretching out slightly to show her form. She was a fearsome creature and he didn’t want to do anything that might provoke her. She leaned down and examined his wound, taking the left wing with her claw. He flinched slightly as she held it. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that she would rip it off right then and there. But she didn’t. He was more surprised as to how gentle her claws ran through his broken wing, each small appendage slipping through his blue feathers. At first, he was unsure as to what she was doing until her claw touched a sensitive spot. He flinched slightly at this and this caused the hen to take notice.
“Ah, here’s the problem,” the gryphon said, still holding the sensitive spot of the wing. Before Quicksilver could say anything, the hen pulled the wing to the farthest extent. A loud pop came soon after and he let out a noiseless cry as she forced the wing to stick back out. Pain was returning to his mind, and he let out a stifled groan as the hen moved the wing back into position.
“Oh quiet, you fletching. This will only take a moment,” the hen said as she calmly moved the wing up and down. Quiksilver continued to grunt in discomfort as she moved the wing back into original position. He heard few audible pops from the bones readjusting and more pain continued to crawl up his body. He lowered his head until he touched the tent floor, feeling like his wings would fall off from all the suffering. A final pop from his wing and he gasped; it was the most unbearable pain he had ever felt. He panted and breathed heavily as he felt his wing placed back to his side, the throbbing sensation remaining ten-fold. He felt something placed around his wing and he turned his head to see that the hen was already bandaging his wing.
“Your wing was broken in several places. But it’s not as worse as other wings I’ve seen,” she said as she wrapped the bandages around his wing several more times before cutting the end off with one of her talons. After another moment of silence passed, she tied up the wound and his body wheezed out from the pain. Once tied off, she examined her work before retrieving the soup bowl and bread. She placed the food next him as she stretched out her wings.
“Eat up and get some rest. That wing of yours will be fine after a while,” she said before heading toward the tent entrance. She pulled back the flap, letting the cold air slip inside. Quicksilver shuddered at this as the hen whispered something to a stationed guard. After finishing what she had to say, she looked down at him as he tried to huddle up from the cold.
“Your body will get use to the cold, fletching. Eat up and rest. If you want to walk about, the guard stationed here will keep watch over you.” And with that the hen left, leaving him to his thoughts.
He waited there for a time, letting himself get warmed up as he tried to fight the cold. Despite the best he could do, he still felt the cold chill crawl up his spine. Not for the cold that still clings in the air, but for what the hen did to him. He could feel his wing again, but the pain remained. The griffon had that strength to rip it out of his socket and was able to reposition back into place. The thought plagued him of what else the hen was capable of. A sudden grumble from his stomach turned his thought to the food. He eyed the soup and bread, which were likely cold by now. Forcing his head up, he quickly went into his food, taking in every small bite that it could over.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
After finishing the last of the bread, he settled himself back down onto padding and lifted the blanket back over him, returning to his awaiting dreams.