SV-RPG Ch 2.3: Once more for the road

Mac couldn’t believe her eyes. Sure, she’d seen some wild magic over the course of her lifetime—horses with fiery names and tails, a stallion with the ability to control wind and starfire, a stallion covered in vines that moved according to his will … Not much tended to surprise her these days in terms of what creatures could do.

But baby gryphons (newly hatched) burping purple fireworks that sizzled and smelled faintly of sulfur?

No. This was nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Kanorlan sat down next to Mac, ears skewed sideways. “What are the chances that the satchel is fireproof?”

Mac glanced down at the huge blue fenwolf, then across the dirt highway to Ossie and Bran. This development certainly added a whole new dimension to their journey. How could she ask Kan to carry the kit when there was a distinct possibility of Bran accidentally setting his ears on fire? Sweat prickled at the back of Mac’s neck and she reached back to pull her hair into a hasty knot. Gods, when did it get so hot?

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Mac told him. The fenwolf grunted, whether in agreement or uncertainty, she couldn’t be sure. He turned and looked up the dirt highway, the blue and black fur across his shoulders rippling.

“Yes, that’s very pretty,” Mac heard Ossie tell the gryphon-dragon hybrid in patient, soothing tones, “but you can’t keep blowing flame into someone’s face.”

Bran chirped and pounded the dirt with his foreclaws, expelling a crackle of purple flame with each pounce. His ears were pricked forward, wings partially extended as he continued his little game. Every now and then, he’d reach up to swipe at Ossie’s fiery forelock.

Mac frowned, stroking her chin with a thoughtful finger. Bran really, really liked Ossie’s fire. “Oss.”

The dunalino mare looked up, lifting her head out of reach. On the ground, Bran rumbled his disappointment; he took a swipe at Ossie’s feathered legs then suddenly bolted around the mare towards her tail.

“Yes?” Ossie inquired, turning her head slightly to follow Bran’s progress. The kit jumped up, wings beating ineffectually, foreclaws extended, reaching for her flaming tail. More purple sparks popped and fizzled from his tiny beak. He chittered happily, positively entranced by both her fire and his own.

Mac’s hunch was confirmed. “You need to turn it off, Oss.”

Ossie watched Bran jump and spin, chortling madly as he played with the harmless tendrils of fire. Her dark brow creased in bewilderment. “He’s imitating you,” Kanorlan spoke up, coming to Mac’s side again. “Mac thinks that if you turn your fire off, he’ll stop. Then we can leave.”

Ossie didn’t seem wholly convinced. Mac understood her hesitation. Her flames were her protection in this strange environment and Mac was asking her to remove that. Of course, she could always call it back up at a moment’s notice. Still …

“If you say so.” Taking a deep breath, the large Nordanner closed her blue eyes and willed the flames to subside. Slowly, very slowly, the flames faded away, each lick of red and orange and gold replaced by a lock or tuft of pale hair. With a muted pop, all that remained of Ossie’s brilliant fire were the flowers in her mane and the red ribbon binding her tail.

“Good girl,” Mac breathed. Ossie’s bright blue eyes opened and she swished her bound tail once.

“Mrrp?” Bran stared at heavy knot of Ossie’s tail, with its trailing red silk fluttering in the slight breeze. He settled on all fours and began crawling in a tight circle, looking for any trace of fire. His little mottled brow furrowed in confusion as his infant brain failed to process where the flames disappeared to. “Mrrp!”

Mac stepped forward to claim the kit, but Bran raced around to Ossie’s front, eluding her. “Mrrp!” he exclaimed, sliding to a stop in front of the dunalino Nordanner’s giant hooves. “Mrrp!” The mare lowered her massive head to show him that no, she didn’t have flames here, either.

Bran stood up on his draconic hind legs, foreclaws braced against the bridge of Ossie’s broad nose. “Mrrp?” His ears flatted against his avian head, spade-tipped tail swaying low.

Pulling on her gloves, Mac reached down and scooped Bran up and into her arms. “Oof!” she exclaimed, almost pitching forward with the unexpected weight. Ossie stuck her nose out and pushed against Mac’s shoulder, steadying the woman. “Thanks,” Mac whispered. Ossie nodded and reached down to take one final mouthful of summer grass.

Bran wriggled in Mac’s arms, whimpering in confusion. “Hush,” Mac murmured, jiggling her bundle of fur and feathers and scales. “They’ll be back. They had to take a nap. You played so much with them, you tired them out!”

Bran’s golden eyes widened. “Mrrp?”

“Yes,” Mac cooed, “all tired.”

The kit’s eyes began to droop and he wriggled deeper into Mac’s arms. “That’s it,” Mac soothed, gently rocking the heavy gryphon-dragon hybrid like a human baby. She hummed a nonsense tune, something half-remembered from her own childhood. Slowly, very slowly, Bran’s lids slid closed; he sighed deeply, clacked his beak like a baby smacking their lips, and was promptly asleep.

Mac stared into the sleeping avian face, at the tail that curled up and over her arm to dangle against her hip. She felt a sudden flush of affection for the little darling. Funny how quickly her emotions changed from fear to fondness.

“If he isn’t a cute bugger,” Kanorlan commented softly at her side. Mac smiled down at him, carefully adjusting her grip.

“Let’s get him into the satchel and head out,” she told her team.

Ossie walked past them to grab the large brown leather bag, which was lying near the remnants of Mac’s lunch. She nosed the flap open and grabbed the strap between her flat, strong teeth. Using the tips of her fingers and a little deft maneuvering, Mac managed to slip the sleeping kit into the depths of the satchel. Ossie’s head barely moved as Mac transferred Bran from her arms into the enchanted bag.

Mac stepped back a bit, watching as the satchel swayed gently from Ossie’s jaws. “I will pay the mage who enchanted this whatever they want,” she muttered to herself, crossing her arms briefly. It was just too good to pass up.

“Hrr?” Ossie asked around a mouthful of leather.

“Hold on a minute, Oss.” Mac patted the mare on her black-smudged nose and darted back to her lunching spot to grab the makeshift harness. She quickly got the straps in order, and then motioned for Ossie to come up with the kit. Deep inside his little slumber hammock, Bran barely stirred as he was attached to Kanorlan’s harness.

“Good?” Mac asked the blue fenwolf.

He nodded, taking an experimental stretch or two. Mac turned and grabbed Ossie’s pink leather bridle from where she’d hung it on a nearby branch. Wiping the steel bit with the underside of her shirt, Mac slid the bridle over Ossie’s head. Tossing the reins over the mare’s strong neck, she moved along Ossie’s side, tightening the girth and making sure everything was secure. Finally, she packed up their little camp, rolling up the cloth napkins that held her lunch into a bundle and stuffing everything into a separate saddle bag.

Sticking her foot into the left side stirrup, Mac mounted, swinging her other leg around with practiced ease. Under her, Ossie shifted slightly. Mac gathered the reins in her right hand, using her left to shield her eyes against the high summer sun. Ahead of them (the gods knew how many more miles), the mountains beckoned.

“Let’s go,” Mac said at last, urging Ossie forward. They stepped out, once more on the trail.