Fimbulvetr

by Alkarasu

5: Jötunheimr

That night Vsevolod woke up from a feeling he thought he had forgotten. It was so sudden and nice that it scared him. For the first time in what felt like forever, though it was only a little more than a week, he felt warm. When the best you can get is "almost not cold", the warmth can be startling. For a moment he thought that the madness was over and he's back home, and all it was a terrible nightmare. His hope was shattered the moment he opened his eyes - he was still under a fir tree, surrounded by the snow of the Great Winter. Darkness was already receding, the morning was near. Yet, he still wasn't cold, the warmth wasn't a dream. Then he felt that he's not alone in his lair. Two strong arms ending with vicious talons were wrapped around him, and two large wings that weren't his, covered him and sleeping Helga. The native griffin cuddled to him like he was an over-sized teddy bear and whimpered softly into his feathers in her sleep. Whatever dream was haunting her, it wasn't a happy one. She squeezed him a bit, inhaled and suddenly calmed down, starting to snore contently, her beak settling in a wide grin.

That was another thing Vsevolod hadn't understood about his new anatomy. His beak was, when needed, hard as steel and sharp as a razor - but at the same time he could shift it into pretty much every expression he would expect from a human face. Adding to the weirdness, the sides of the beak had a ridge of bone-like growth that looked almost like teeth. Those gave him the abilities no bird possess - he was able to smile and properly chew his food. Yet, until his meals became more regular, he hadn't even noticed it.

The sight of contently smiling griffin beside him, the warmth she shared with him, he haven't even noticed when he drifted back to sleep. When he woke up again, the sun was already up, and there was no trace of Hel's presence.

She had returned when Vsevolod decided to at least try to hunt, when several hours of walking brought him into the forest not littered with the remnants of the buildings. By his count, he should've been somewhere near Bitsevski park, the area that was the forest even when the city was alive. Unlike the areas with buildings, the forest was thick here, and that allowed him to at least attempt stealth. His attempts wasn't very successful, more dense forest meant that there were many more bushes, branches and other things that make unwanted sounds. Still, it was a bit more fun than just walking, and somehow he felt like this was the right thing to do. Somewhere in the middle of it, Helga appeared from the undergrowth like a shadow. She moved through the woods effortlessly, making no sound above light creaking of the snow under her claws, and no branch was disturbed by her passing.

"Sq-q-q-wee?" she asked, looking at Vsevolod's attempts to sneak on a bullfinch. The bird that observed his rather noisy approach for the last minute, chirped something obscene and flew away.

"Hel, you can at least let me finish!" He moaned, watching it go. "I almost caught this one! And it was so plump, too!"

"Keerak!" retorted the larger griffin, nuzzling his wing with the beak. "Kee! Hel!"

"I still can't understand you, and you should know it by now," sighed Vsevolod, twitching the wing. "If you want something from me... hey, what's your problem?"

Helga snapped at him, and with her claw unceremoniously unfolded his wing. She sniffed at it, tugged at a feather, carefully removed another one that was loose, and then repeated the process with the other wing. When he attempted to close the wings again, she suddenly snarled.

"Vree-vok! Heel-ha! Hel-hel-hel-ha!"

"So you want me to stand here with my wings open, like I have nothing better to do?" his confusion was so visibly apparent, that Helga sighed deeply and sagged a bit. Then she unfolded her own wings and gave them several strong flaps, almost taking off.

"Heel-ha!"

She then put one of her wings under his and tried to force him to do the same. Vsevolod repeated the movements, but in his case, the only effect of the flapping was the snow it rose from the ground. Helga tilted her head at this, seemingly deeply in thought, then, suddenly, jumped in the air.

"And now you are gone like the wind. I wonder what was tha... HEY!"

He wasn't able to finish the sentence, or even close his wings, when the native decided to finally betray his trust and assault him from above. She landed on his back, firmly holding on his forelegs with her claws and standing on his back with her hind legs. It wasn't easy for her, since she was quite a bit longer, but she had still managed to pin him in place.

"Stop! What the hell, lady? I'm not that kind of gr... Stop I say!"

"SQWACK!" Nearly deafening him with the angry cry, Hel carefully lowered herself so she was almost laying on his back. Her wings slowly descended on his, feathers gently touching.

Then he felt it.

It wasn't easy to describe even to himself. All the feelings in the wings were alien to him, but this one was distinctly different from them all. It was akin to the feeling one might get from putting a hand in the fast flowing river. Some kind of invisible stream was flowing from Helga's feathers and washed over his, and something similar, if not that potent, was flowing from his feathers as well. It was invisible, he made sure to turn his head and look, but he was able to tell where it is and where it goes as well as if it was visible. He realized that the flow was not just there, it was part of himself, a part that he could control as he liked. Much like with the wings at first, his control wasn't any good, most he could do was make it "twitch" a bit, but even that small bit was enough to make his feathers tremble from the sudden random gusts of wind. And then the constant pull of gravity that always linked him to the ground, suddenly disappeared. For a moment he was floating several centimeters above the ground, before plopping back into the snow.

The iron grip of Helga's claws was suddenly released. With a mighty sigh, the bigger griffin jumped off his back, looking tired, but content. She looked at Vsevolod and spread her wings again.

"Vree-vok! Vree! Hel! Heel!" To emphasise her "words" she flapped her wings several more times.

This time, he felt the faint echo of the strange stream in her wingbeats. Concentrating, he tried to repeat after her, and this time his clumsy flaps had produced some lift. Not nearly enough to fly, and he immediately felt tired like after a whole day of walking, but the feeling was there. He didn't know what was that feeling, but now it was obvious it was the secret to griffin flight. Despite him not flying right away, Helga looked content and hadn't made any attempts to force him to try again. Instead, she made encouraging noise similar to cat's purring, and turned to Vsevolod, seemingly to give him a friendly nuzzle. Halfway she froze in place.

In some other case, he would've thought that what happened next might be interesting or maybe even humorous. Every single feather on Hel's head suddenly poofed out, giving an impression that her head suddenly grew three times in size. Next, every hair on her lion side did the same, including the tuft on the end of her tail. With wings half spread she crouched low and made the most vicious hiss Vsevolod ever heard. Her eyes were wide with terror, and whatever caused it, was on his other side.

Snapping his head around, he looked at the cause, and for a first moment didn't believe his eyes. It was a feat, since his life, consisting of winter in June, crazy dragons, griffin flying lessons and a city that aged into ruins in a second, made saying the word "impossible" hard. Yet, the sight before him warranted it. At the edge of the clearing he was in, stood a moose. A large beast, with shaggy fur and long antlers, it wasn't a sight that uncommon around Moscow, even when the city was still there. What was uncommon is that the antlers of the moose wasn't on its head. Instead, they were forming a weird necklace, hanging from the moose's mighty neck on a string. Instead of the antlers, the head of the moose was adorned with a small woolen hat, richly decorated by an embroidery. On the sides it wore two large bags, seemingly empty. The look the moose was giving to the pair of griffins was less than friendly.

"Kaluchata! Sa kaluchata! Isika ma bik!" suddenly roared the moose, stepping out of the bushes. Vsevolod felt a sudden surge of the stream and a slam of the air, signalling Hel's take off. But instead of flying away, she circled the clearing and dived at the moose, screaming.

"Vreek! Kereeek! Kreeeek!" At the last moment, she veered off, missing the moose's head but startling the beast enough so Vsevolod was able to regain his senses and bolt for the forest. The moose, recovering after the assault, ran after him. Helga repeated her attack, making the moose stumble and lose speed. He roared once again, and charged after the fleeing griffin. Luckily for Vsevolod, the griffin he chose to charge after, was not him, but Helga, who danced in the air just out of the moose's reach and lead him the other way. Deeper in the forest, more roars of "Kaluchata!" and "Hatima baruk!" were heard, but it was clear that the commotion was moving away. Gathering all his strength, Vsevolod had ran, and ran, until the sun had started to set. He hadn't heard a noise of the pursuers for a long time by then, but the fear drove him forward anyway. He was worried about Helga - he had no idea what suddenly sapient mooses had against griffins, but it was quite clear that the one they've met wasn't about to give out hugs. He wanted to help her somehow, but he also understood that there was nothing he could do, except accepting her attempt to lead the hunt away from the one that can't just fly away. Why had she suddenly decided to bother with him at all he had no idea - but was sure that he'll want to know eventually. Right now, running was more important.

In the last light of the dying day, his flight brought him to a big clearing. There, the forest receded and the terrain gently lowered down to what seemed to be a small river. On the river shore, stood something that Vsevolod was least expecting in this frozen world. There stood a normally-looking village of several dozen wooden huts. Smoke was rising from the smokestacks, some kind of a horse was pulling a sleigh with the firewood. The place was far from the killer moose or crazy dragons, it was so normal, that all the exhaustion of the last week, all the stress, caught up to Vsevolod in one huge wave. He passed out and slowly tumbled down the slope towards the village.

Author's Note:

Technically, it wasn't moose, it was european elk, moose being it's close relative from Canada.
But I like the word "moose" more.

Comments

[Celefin]

Hmm... more mystery about the 'when' now that he's met a member of an obviously rather far developed tribe of elk. And Helga gets more and more interesting as well. And yeah, teach him some personal hygiene Helga!
I think it's the harshest land of any side story as of yet, but of course this fits the former country. I had an immediate, very clear image in my head at the description of the little pony settlement. Will be interesting to see what Moskva ponies (what's 'pony' in Russian?) think of griffins...

chirped something obscene and flew away

For some reason I really had to laugh at this little line. It's these small things that bring a story to life.

[Alkarasu]

6580746 It's not that harsh land, actually, it's just Vsevolod has the best of luck navigating it. Had he went west or north instead of south, he would've hit some traces of civilization on day 3.

Will be interesting to see what Moskva ponies (what's 'pony' in Russian?) think of griffins...

Those would be Podolsk ponies (Vsevolod sucks at navigation, he's further south than he thought). He's around this place.

what's 'pony' in Russian?

Пони. Sounds exactly like 'pony'.

[Fana Farouche]

If he'd gone to Sokolniki Park, he'd have felt right at home.

[Alkarasu]

6965548
Oh, but he went right through there! He ate rowan berries in Botanical Garden, then saw Helga for the first time at VDNKh, and then camped at the edge of Sokolniki before reaching the Kremlin.