Beyond the Horizon

by bahatumay

Part I

It was a cold morning in Western Griffonstone, a small settlement near the coast and, as its name implies, west of the capital of Griffonstone. The icy wind blew from the north, and flurries of snow wisped across the land.

The sun peeked over the mountain at a young griffon chopping wood. He paused just long enough to wipe the sweat off his white feathers before swinging his axe once again. For how much work it took to survive here, he was fairly certain that his ancestors had arrived here by accident and then had just been too stubborn to leave.

Soon, he'd gathered enough firewood, and he pulled the cord onto his back and made his way down the rocky hill. His paws nearly lost their footing on the smooth rocks; but once he made it out of the trees, he could spread his wings and fly back to his home.

He soon arrived, pushing open the door and dragging in the wood behind him.

Galfrid was sitting at the table glaring at a newspaper. He raised an eyebrow as his son entered. “Took you a while, Galvin,” he observed.

“The axe is getting dull,” Galvin explained.

His father considered this excuse, and then when he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time it had been sharpened, he snorted; his annoyance quickly changing targets. “Yeah? Well, with what Gable charges to sharpen blades, it'll be a hot day in winter before I take it to him.” He held out his claw. “I'll sharpen it. You just finish loading the wood.”

Galvin passed the axe over, and Galfrid took it and stomped outside. As he walked out the door, Galvin looked out towards the south, towards where the sea lay. He quickly looked back, focusing on his work.

But he'd let his gaze linger too long. His mother, Geraldine, sighed. “You're not going out there again tonight, are you, Galvin?”

Galvin exhaled and continued loading the wood. “Maybe I am,” he said, looking down and returning to his work.

“Galvin, it's not right,” she said. She came over and placed a claw under his beak, lifting his face up so she could look him in the eyes. “You're a griffon, Galvin,” she said. “You're meant to be in the air, not on the water.”

“I can't help it,” Galvin said, raising his head away from her claw and breaking eye contact. “It's just… me. I love to fly, but I love the waves.”

“You’ll love getting the oil washed off your feathers and sinking like a stone,” Geraldine snorted.

Galvin rested his forehead against one of the logs and exhaled slowly through gritted beak. “I’m sailing, not swimming,” he repeated as he had so many times before.

“Yes; but it’s almost the same!”

Galvin bit back the retort that sprang to mind. She’d never understand. At least, she hadn’t made any effort to understand thus far, anyway.

“Really, son. You're a grown griffon. It's time you put aside these childish things and become a real griffon!” Convinced she’d made her point, Geraldine nodded and returned to her task of counting bits.

Galvin loaded the wood onto the pile faster. He had to get out of here.

* * *

Galvin pulled the raft along the beach, along with the long stick he used as a paddle. As far as watercrafts go, this one wasn’t particularly stunning; he had made it of old driftwood and logs too thin to make good heat, and had lashed it together with old rope. Still, it floated, and that’s all that mattered.

He arrived at the beach and pushed it into the ocean. The water was icy cold, and the spray on his fur from the small waves against the beach made him shiver; but it was more out of anticipation than cold. Once the raft floated uninhibited in the water, he picked up his push pole and flapped his wings, letting himself land gently on the raft. Memories of earlier rafts that had sunk under his weight sprang to mind, and he cracked the first real smile he’d had all day.

He stood on the raft, balanced precariously, and pushed against the sandy bottom, propelling the raft a bit more forward. The motion of the waves made some griffons sick; something about not being in control of their movements.

Galvin lived for it.

He stroked the water once more and looked out at the horizon. For some reason, his last interaction with his mother had really rankled him. Maybe it was her inability to hear him. Maybe it was because for all her professions of love for him, she'd never made more than a token effort to try and understand how he felt. Maybe it was an overreaction. He wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that he wanted to just stay on the ocean forever.

He squinted at the horizon. Some griffons just had that sense of adventure, to leave their town in search not of fame or bits, but of adventure. He definitely had it.

One day he’d do it. He’d reach it, and then go beyond it. He would go beyond the horizon.

Maybe he could even leave tonight.

He looked down at the water pooling on the raft's surface. No. He'd need something bigger than his raft. Bigger, and better.

A tiny smile crept across his face as he flapped his wings and lifted off. His raft would be lost somewhere in the ocean, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

For he, Galvin, was going to build a boat.

* * *

Galfrid squinted. “A boat?”

Galvin nodded, beak clenched tight as he suddenly took a profound interest in his breakfast. He hadn't meant to let that slip out. Yet. Ever.

Galfrid considered for a moment, and then rendered his verdict as he returned to his newspaper. “That's ridiculous.”

“I don't care. I want to go.”

“What's wrong with flying?” Geraldine asked.

“Where I'm going, I won't be able to fly that long,” Galvin explained.

“But where are you going?” Geraldine pressed.

Galvin exhaled. “I don’t know yet; but I’ll know when I get there.”

“And you don't know when you're getting there?”

Galvin shook his head. “No,” he confessed quietly. This had sounded much better in his head. Having to explain it to griffons who didn’t (wouldn’t) understand made it that much harder.

Geraldine exhaled. “Son, staking your hopes and dreams on a distant shore that might not even exist is foolish! We griffons are part eagle, not part seagull!”

“Griffons can do anything,” Galvin protested weakly.

“No one's even going to pay you,” Galfrid pointed out. “How are you going to get the bits to pay for anything?”

“Maybe I want something that bits can't buy,” Galvin blurted before he could stop himself.

Galfrid raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He looked back down at his newspaper and grunted at the dismal headline. “Fine. You know what? You try it,” he challenged. “You build a boat.” He pulled the newspaper back up over his face. “But when you fail and come back, make sure you keep the woodbox full.”

Galvin bit his tongue. He knew two things had just happened. One, he had technically been given permission.

And secondly, he had just been given a challenge.

* * *

Galvin scuffed a claw against the dirty floor. He looked around at the collapsed walls and exhaled slowly. This had once been the library of Western Griffonstone. Now, it was barely a home for mice.

Still, he had to start somewhere. He exhaled and started poking around. There had to be something here. Something! Anything!

He picked up a book and snorted as he recognized mouse droppings falling from inside the book; his previous assessment had been incorrect.

But mouse droppings--or even the mice themselves--weren’t going to help him build anything. For almost an hour he continued digging, looking under collapsed desks and under fractured walls; he even grabbed loose sheets of paper and looked at them.

None of these helped.

Galvin exhaled as he dropped another stack of useless papers. His efforts seemed hopeless.

But finally, under a toppled bookshelf, he found one. It was a hatchling’s book, printed on thick cardboard so as to be sturdier, about a bearded pony pirate that had been tricked by a griffon merchant. It was a silly story with simple drawings, but it was a start.

He tucked the book under his wings and headed towards home.

* * *

Galvin took a step back and nodded. He was finished. With his bedsheet as a sail and the book as a guide, he had successfully built his first boat. Sure, it had taken him a couple of days to get the wood together, and then a couple more days to get the wood to stay together, but he’d managed. Confidently, he pushed it into the water, and flapped aboard.

He smiled. Already he could feel some improvements over his raft. It was larger, and seemed to feel a little bit smoother on the water.

He cast his eyes out towards the horizon, and he couldn't suppress a laugh. He had done it!

Wait. What was that wet feeling around his ankles?

* * *

Galfrid looked up from counting his bits at the sound of someone coming through the door, and he barked a laugh. “Ah, the prodigal son returns!” He returned to his counting. “Just don't forget to keep the woodbox full.”

Galvin, still dripping wet from his unexpected excursion into the sea, irritably blew a wet feather out of his face and continued back to his room. He threw himself back onto his bare mattress, not even caring that it was getting wet.

His boat sinking was just a minor setback. He would try again.

* * *

After much reflection, Galvin realized his problem. The logs that he had used for his raft had been light enough to float on their own, together or separately. He hadn’t tested for that while building his boat; he’d just tried to copy the design in the book. Thus, for his next attempt, he would only be able to use logs that floated on their own. Then they'd all be able to float.

It took quite a bit of testing, of placing logs into the water and seeing which ones floated and which ones did not.

Rumors had spread of his actions. Passing griffons would stop and watch. Younger hatchlings still not even through their first molt would stop and watch, and usually they would also point and laugh before going back to their beach soccer game.

But Galvin did not let that dissuade him. He was going to sail off into the horizon.

He cracked his neck and then his claws, and then pushed the boat off the sand into the water. It bobbed a few times, but floated. Galvin laughed, and then flew to land on the deck.

And as soon as his claws hit the deck, the boat fell apart.

* * *

“You're making a fool of yourself.”

Galvin exhaled. “Gaspar, if I give you some bits, will you leave me alone?”

“I doubt it,” Gaspar said with a smirk. “You're quite the source of entertainment. This is, what, the sixth boat you've built?”

“Fifth,” Galvin grumbled.

“And every one has sunk.”

“The third one stayed together longest. I just need to figure out what I did right.”

“Longest as in…?”

Galvin chose not to answer.

Gaspar chuckled and walked around, getting a good look at what Galvin was working on. “Maybe you’re thinking too big,” he said. “Maybe you could stay here and work with your father or something. Firewood is a hot commodity now.”

Galvin briefly wondered if he could tie Gaspar to the front of his boat like the siren carved onto the boat in the book. Though he wouldn't be nearly as attractive as a siren,

Gaspar nodded, and then peered over Galvin’s shoulder. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I think I see what your problem is.”

Galvin looked back, feeling a slight spark of hope in his chest. “Yeah? What?”

Gaspar bumped him with his hip, sending Galvin tipping over and landing face first into the sand. “You’re a griffon!” Laughing uproariously at his own joke, Gaspar stepped over Galvin, knocked his sketches off the rock with a quick sweep of his wing, and walked back towards the town.

Galvin spat sand out of his beak and scowled. He sat up, brushed the sand off his feathers, and placed the paper back up on the rock. He picked up the ink bottle before all of it had run out, and discarded the feather he had been using. It had been broken in Gaspar’s departure.

It wasn’t his failures that rankled him so much as the other griffons’ responses. If only he could succeed, just for once. Then they’d see. Instead, Gaspar and friends had to show up and give ridiculous solutions to-

Galvin sat back and tapped his beak. Maybe he was thinking too large. His raft had floated just fine; it was when he was going for a large boat that he failed.

He turned the paper over and pulled a new feather to serve as a quill. He bit it at an angle, spat out the tip, and dipped it in the ink. New inspiration flowed through him.

That horizon would be his yet.

* * *

Gaspar, as expected had returned. This time, though, he didn’t have many words.

Galvin hoped that was because Gaspar had been so impressed with his craft, but that wasn’t likely.

Finally, Gaspar rendered his judgement. “So you’ve built a raft, with wings.”

Galvin paused. “Yeah, more or less,” he said, looking over his craft. “This middle part here is the main body of the ship, and the two little rafts on the sides connected by spars-” he’d learned that term from the book, “-help keep the heavier raft in the middle afloat.”

“Oh yeah, I just remembered. I don’t care.” Gaspar spat derisively into the water. “Go on your stupid voyage and never come back.”

Galvin smirked. “You think the design will work.”

“Just go out there, drown, and get out of all of our feathers,” Gaspar said, turning around and stomping away. “You're no fun anymore.”

Galvin had no intention of doing the second one, but the first and third sounded really good. Still, there was only one way of knowing. He took a steadying breath, and wiggled his claws. Then he pushed off the sandy beach once more, hoping that this would be the last time.

Sure enough, his boat rocked, but it didn’t sink. Carefully, cautiously, he flew up and landed once more on the raft.

It held.

He let out a cheer of delight. Picking up the long pole he had taken for this purpose, he pushed off the sandy ocean floor, and he sailed off into the great unknown.