SV-RPG Ch 2: A Mystery Revealed

Mr McAulfy stepped into the barn as McKenna hefted Ossie’s saddle from its rack. The old man leaned against the store-room door, thick arms folded across a chest that was still broad despite his years. Mac ducked her head, avoiding eye-contact. “We’ll be leaving soon, sir,” she mumbled, a flush of shame creeping up her neck. Logically, she knew that none of this was her fault, but it was hard to dispel the memory of Mrs McAulfy’s condemnation.

The old man grunted. “Don’t mind the missus,” he told her, reaching for the salmon-colored saddle. “We lost a grandson in the dragon wars. The news damn near killed our daughter; wrecked her marriage, though. Fool of a husband ran off with a girl from the city. Haven’t seen him in years.” He heaved a sigh bevy with memories.

Mac lifted her chin and handed over the saddle. She knew he was doing his best to ease the sting of his wife’s words. It worked—a little. She empathized with the old woman’s grief, but Mac hadn’t purposefully brought the egg onto the old couple’s property. If she hadn’t found it, the egg would still be in the barn, hidden beneath the hay.

“I’m sorry.” It was all she could say. Any more, and it might open up a conversation she wasn’t prepared to have. Already, she was late in getting on the road.

Mr McAulfy grunted again and turned towards the courtyard. Ossie stood there, her blue eyes locked onto the egg. Mac scooped up several smaller items into her arms and joined the elder man in the summer sun.

“Is this fire … real?” Mr McAulfy asked, saddle hanging from his arms. Ossie slowly turned her head, flames snapping and popping.

“Very,” the dunalino mare replied with uncustomary curtness. Mr McAulfy took a step back. “But I can control its effects,” she added as Mac raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be harmed.”

“She’s right,” Mac confirmed when Mr McAulfy turned to her for assurance. Gingerly, he lowered the saddle onto to the white pad Ossie already wore. With a quickness belied by his apparent age, the older man stepped back from the fiery-maned Nordanner.

“I’ll bring your meals down,” he told Mac, scooting around Ossie.

The dunalino mare snorted. “Prejudice sucks,” she said, clicking her sharp, flat teeth together. Mac gave her a reassuring pat on the neck before moving towards the picnic table. Kanorlan lay nearby, one eye trained on the mottled shell. Mac dumped her armful of supplies onto the unoccupied portion of the table.

“Are you up for being the egg carrier?” she asked the big blue fenwolf. He shrugged his thick, fur-covered shoulders. She’d have to brush him out sooner than later, if it was going to be this hot for the entirety of their trek to the border. “Okay, then.” Mac grabbed the satchel they’d found the egg in, as well as a coil of calf’s-hide leather.

While Ossie watched, and Kan endured, Mac rigged a sort of harness with the coil of leather and the satchel. When she was finished, Mac had Kanorlan stand and walk around, testing the fit of the contraption. The big blue fenwolf took a few experimental steps, shook himself vigorously, and then nodded. Mac stood up and reached for the egg. Just as her fingers were about to close on the mottled shell, Kan’s ears swiveled around sharply.

“No!” the fenwolf barked, reaching out and catching the leading edge of her travel jacket with his fangs.

Mac started, throwing up her free hand to her chest. “What?” she cried, heart hammering.

Ossie snorted and ramped, steel-shod hooves ringing on cobblestone. Her unsecured saddle slid off her back to land with a thud as fire blazed along her topline and tail.

Kan released her sleeve and turned to shoot Ossie a stern look. With a wolfish huff, he pointed his long nose at the egg. “It’s hatching.”

“Hatching?” Ossie’s voice rose shrilly. “We must kill it—now!”

Mac whirled, holding out a hand. “No! There will be no killing! We don’t murder babies.” She turned around, shaking her head at the dunalino mare’s reaction. Mac expected such a response from Kuma, Polaris, or Archer. Especially Archer, who would have been hard to hold back. But not from Odtsetseg, who very rarely got upset.

Ossie danced in place, blue eyes wide and wild. “Dragons grow up.”

“So do people and humans and wolves,” Kan retorted, rolling his eyes sarcastically. “Slow your roll, mare. Who was just bemoaning prejudice a moment ago?”

Ossie paused, her gaze switching between Kanorlan, Mac, and the egg. Slowly, she gathered her formidable self; the huge flames along her mane and tail receded until they were at a more manageable level. “You are right,” she replied in a clipped tone. “My apologies.”

“Ms Hansen?” Mr McAulfy called out. He descended the hidden stairs, a bundle in one hand, as the egg shuddered and split down the middle.

A creature that was decidedly not a dragon rolled around on the picnic table, its fur and feathers gleaming wetly in the sun. Mr McAulfy dropped his bundle, both hands rising to clutch his chest. “What in the gods’ names is that?”

That was what Mac was trying to figure out. She advanced cautiously, using one hand to pick a large piece of shell off the newborn creature. A large birdlike head swiveled around, the beak opening up and a shrill cry issuing forth. Quickly, Mac snatched her hand back. The beast flopped over, smashing the remnants of its mottled shell with its great, pudgy belly.

Was it … could it be … no, it couldn’t be a gryphon.

Carefully, Mac moved around the picnic table, keeping an eye on the snapping beak. The newborn kit continued to make noise, its shrill cry abruptly becoming a whimpering mewl. Quickly, Mac counted: four limbs, a pair of wings, one avian head with a set of tufted ears, and a long tail. But there was something decidedly off about the kit—the wings, which would normally be fully feathered, were a startling combination of draconic wingsail and feathers. Not to mention the hindquarters, which were not leonine in any way. Molted grey-brown fur gave way to slate-colored reptilian hindlegs, with a long draconic tail that ended in a flat spade.

Beside Mac, Kanorlan huffed. “Well, that explains the dragon smell.”

Mac continued to stare at the kit. Who had made such a hybrid? And was this the reason the egg had been left behind?

Steel-shod hooves rang on cobblestone as Ossie advanced on the kit. The gryphonic hybrid rolled around on the tabletop, its mewls cut short to examine the new arrival. Ossie lowered her large head towards the tiny, but definitely sharp, hooked beak. Big golden eyes, still cloudy so soon after birth, locked onto the dancing flames above Ossie’s tiny, neat ears.

“Huh,” she murmured, wide nostrils fluttering as she took in its scent. “It’s … cuter than I expected.”

Cloth scraped on cobblestone; Mac turned towards the sound and noticed Mr McAulfy still standing there. He thrust the bundle into her arms and she scrabbled to keep everything from falling out.

“Take it away,” he ordered, a quiver in his voice. “Far, far away.” Giving the hybrid kit one last lingering, fearful look, he hustled up the stairs.

Mac twisted. “But where?” she cried out. “I don’t know where they’re from!?”

Mr McAulfy paused just long enough to jab a thick forefinger towards the rising mountains in the distance. Then he raced inside the cottage; Mac heard the door slam all the way down in the courtyard. With a sigh, she lowered her bundle to the picnic table. Slowly, she looked at Ossie, then Kanorlan, then finally, the gryphon-dragon kit. With a sigh, she reached into her pocket and drew out her riding gloves. She hadn’t planned on wearing them, with the warm weather and all, but now, she put them on, one hand at a time.

“All right, buddy, let’s get you home.”