by Jess E. Owen
A female, her wings rich grey, her head and chest pale as starlight, strode up so close that her beak nearly touched Angrboda's. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Behind her, a male who matched her in every way studied her with quiet, un-hostile curiosity.
Angrboda set the kit hesitantly in the mud at her talons, heart stuttering to see how he leaned, limp and silent, against her feet.
“They will kill my son. Please, you must take him. This is the only place he’ll be safe.”
The female’s red eyes widened, aghast, and she looked over at the male. “He won’t be safe here. And neither will you.”
“I won’t stay. I will leave him, and tell them he perished.” Angrboda flattened her ears, her chest aching from the fast flight and the sprinting, her heart fragmenting as the kit sat in the mud, eyes closed. “You must have mercy. You must take him.”
Before any could speak again, a cold, hard wind rushed them, flattening their feathers, rushing the rain against them like stinging nettles. Angrboda gasped and huddled down, blocking the silent kit from the worst of it.
The female sea dweller sucked a sharp breath and backed away fast, nearly bumping into her companion.
He flicked his ears forward as the rush of wind died. “The Star Wind. We must heed it, Rind.”
“You don’t know what it’s asking,” she said sharply. “It could be a warning.”
“A Star Wind? A Star Wind, not a Night Wind, blew when she asked this of us.”
Rind’s ears flattened, and she eyed the kit.
Angrboda’s heart swelled and she nudged the pile of soaked fluff, trying to warm him. “My son, you will be safe by the sea, and you will never know war.”
“Angrboda!”
“Wretch!”
“Thief!”
The calls came from her pursuers, cruel servants to her former mate. “All winds keep you,” she said to the sea dwellers, backing away, lashing her tail, backing across the invisible border where the scent changed. “His name is Aegir.”
“And his father?” the male asked.
Angrboda’s heart darkened. “I will not tell you. And if you ever guess it, I beg you not to tell him.”
Without further words, she turned and loped fast toward her pursuers, wailing. “He is dead! He is dead, because of you! The sea dwellers will eat him like savages, and I will never know my son!”
Savage growls and the gryfess’s sudden, agonized shriek turned Rind’s belly. She look at her brother, then at the kit, who did look dead. “We what will do?”
“I’ll take him to my nest,” her brother murmured. “He will make a good companion to Vandil.”
“I hope your mate agrees.” She huffed. “The Winds keep you, brother. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
But he was already scooping up the sodden, muddy, savage’s kit. At the touch of his beak, the strange silence broke, and the kit loosed a challenging, full-throated cry.
~oOo~
