Descent (Gilda/Anon) - Part 3

>Despite Gilda’s accommodation for you the night before, nightmares plague the early morning hours of your rest.  The visions are always resting on the edge of your conscious mind, teasing you with their closeness until you, begging to be remembered.  Each time you slip off to sleep again, and awake in a fear-induced sweat.

>“Hey, Tree Swinger.”

>You glance up at her, giving a lackluster smile.  Your hair is plastered to the back of your neck and face.  The smile fades as her eyes narrow, inspecting her coat.  Her fur is slightly discolored where you spent the night, taking on a darker hue from your perspiration.

>“You’re getting your filth all over me.  I didn’t invite you to sleep with me so I could bathe in your stink, you know.”

>Your first instinct is to apologize, no need to get on the bad side of an already grumpy griffon.  Taking a breath, you feel the admission of responsibility get caught in your throat, the muscles clamping down, as if to stop you.

>Hacking and coughing, you push yourself to your feet, staggering while your body orients itself.  Gilda watches you with a passing curiosity, since you are the only interesting thing left for her to interact with.   Finally clearing your throat, you open your mouth to apologize.

“Listen, Feather Brain, just because you’re hot stuff outside this hole, doesn’t mean squat.  You and me, we’re down here trying to survive, so the less time you spend complaining about how much I stink or how useless I am, the better.  How about you give that irritating pecker of yours a rest and let me try and get back to sleep?”

>Your voice echoes for a moment before the room lapses into silence.

 

>It takes a few seconds to realize that that was hardly an apology.  By this point the griffon has tilted her head a little, allowing the protruding feathery bangs to cover one of her eyes.  The other is locked onto you, shimmering in the small hint of pre-dawn light from above.  That slight quiver of gold urges you closer, to explore its depths, promising wealth unimaginable, all the while telling you to pay no mind to the angler’s teeth hiding just below.

>Gilda sneers, taking short, measured steps towards you.  Her shoulders roll with a hunter’s grace, filled with purpose.  You take several steps back until you hit the wall.  You turn to bolt around the perimeter when two talons slam into the wall on either side of you.

>The fear sweat returns as Gilda forces herself into a standing position, using the wall to support her body weight.  Despite the fact you still have a head or two on her in height, Gilda’s beak is in prime position to go right through the middle of your chest.

>“No you listen, you backwater bonobo.  We’re not surviving, we’re waiting to die a terrible death, on the slimmest of hopes that some pony Princess’ prissy punk can figure out how to move enough stone to build a dozen palaces before we kick it.  It’s your fault I’m down here in the first place, and don’t you ever, ever forget that!”

>Gilda’s shoulders are still heaving as she tries to rein herself back in, closing her eyes as she finally begins to settle.  With the worst over, your sphincter relaxes enough to allow blood to flow back to your brain.

 

>Being this close to her, you notice the contours surrounding the not-so subtle shift from the white feathers on her head, to a faded purple wing design that surrounds each eye.  Her eyes still closed, the color holds a sort of regal elegance, telling the story of a woman long since removed from a position of power, but still holding pride in herself.

>The eyes snap back open, and your stomach falls over itself again.  Her breathing has calmed, each one deep and deliberate, which is perhaps more terrifying as she leans in closer.  Her forepaws push her higher as she stands tall, her beak scant inches away from your chin.  Leaning forward on her back paws, she whispers into your neck.

>“Just to make sure that you don’t ever take that tone with me again, I’m going to make this abundantly clear.  I like you, Anonymous, but only just enough to keep you alive for company.  If I think that there’s the slimmest chance that killing you is going to allow me to live long enough to be rescued, I’ll do it.  And if you keep pissing me off, I might do it anyway.”

>Your eyes slam shut as she presses her beak against your neck, fingers gripping into the wall behind you.  You can feel her hot breath against the tender flesh, the once subtle scent of down feathers now overpowering as she inches nearer.  Gilda makes a small cough and then you feel something slightly moist and very rough running along your skin.  As the sensation leaves, you crack open your eyes.

 

>Gilda still stares up at you, though her eyes have softened a great deal.  Her beak is opening and closing periodically, giving you a show of her tongue working something over in your mouth.  Bringing your hand to your neck, you fingers grope for the moist spot.  She raises an eyebrow and shrugs, before pushing herself off the wall, all four paws on the ground again as she saunters back to her perch.

>“I’ve gotten a taste of you now, Monkey Man.  It’s not that bad, maybe I should reconsider how valuable you are alive.”

>She circles once, making a point to never take her eyes off of you before dropping to the ground.  Her haunches are curled around to the inside of her body, allowing her to continue facing you.  She makes a show of clicking her beak together once, the sound of a trap snapping shut echoing through the emptiness.

>As you walk back to what is once again ‘your’ side of the altar, you see her eyes close and soon enough her sides are rising and falling in a regular rhythm.  Kneeling onto the floor, you press your back against the cold stone and look upwards.

>Furtive fingerlings of light grasp at the holes above, giving you several hours before it becomes light enough to work.  In the near darkness, shadows skitter again.  Closing your eyes, you push the thoughts of dead spirits and magic as far from your mind as you can.

>

“This isn’t working!”

 

>Stamping your hoof against the ground, you huff and glare at the rocks in front of you.  It had taken some doing, but the griffons and ponies were working in shifts to clear this tunnel.  Even still, progress had been slow, the pile of stones in front of the tunnel kept growing, but the teams never seemed to get any deeper!  You were getting nowhere fast, time for the back-up plan.

>Trotting over to your saddlebags, you opened the satchels to take stock.  Canteens of water, dried meat from the griffon camp, fruits and cheese, not much, but it would be enough to help the two of them hold out for a little while.

>Closing the sacks, you lift the saddlebags onto your back, giving a small grunt as it settles into place.  Turning your attention to the tunnel, you set your hooves and glare at the rocks.  ‘Blinking’ was a complicated spell, even for unicorns specializing in magic such as yourself.

>The idea around the spell was to enable immediate short-range teleportation.  Generally, this was done with jumps being limited by line of sight, such as a pony traveling from one end of the room to another in a blink, thus the name.

>Blinking could also be done through memory, though it required a pony to be familiar enough with the area they were going to blink to, and exhausted an enormous amount of magical power.  There were additional risks involved in ‘blind blinking’.

>Because the blink was being made from memory rather than line of sight, it was entirely possible for a unicorn to crash through walls, doors, or even on top of other ponies.

 

>There were stories, of course, about unicorns who had blinked themselves into walls and been crushed upon reappearing.  But those were just old mare’s tails.

>You hoped.

>But what was there to worry about?  You had blind blinked before, only a handful of times, but it wasn’t like this was your first.

>Still, you were blinking to places you were familiar with and had visited within a day at least.  Sugar Cube Corner, Sweet Apple Acres, even the center of Ponyville.  You’d never blinked to, say, Canterlot, you weren’t even sure if that was possible for anypony other than Celestia to manage a blink of more than a few miles.

“Stop it Twilight, you’re going to get yourself spooked.”

>Taking the opportunity to reset your hooves, you steady your breathing and focus the potential magic whirling away inside of you.  As you exhale, the formless magic rises through your body along your breath, continuing upwards into your horn.  Clenching your eyes shut, you set your mind on the altar room, feeling the magic reaching into your memories and attaching to them.

>The stone slab sitting in the center, the stonework designs standing out in relief from the rest of the rock; the perfectly round contours of the walls, accented by the depictions of Equestrian humans; the small holes in the ceiling, allowing light and air into the altar room.

>With the mental picture painted, you sigh again and feel the magic latch onto the image.  You feel yourself floating, and ‘feel’ the image coming closer.  Closer still, until it consumes you.  A strange sensation passes through your body, akin to a pebble causing ripple to echo across a pond face.

>You ignore it and open your eyes, a smile on your face.

 

“Anon!”

>The griffon in front of you turns, raising an eyebrow.

>“No, I’m Chuck.”

“B-b-but, the spell!”

>“I don’t know anything about a spell, unicorn.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to clear some rubble.”

>Chuck lifts one of his clawed feet and shoos you away.  Stumbling back, you look yourself over to make sure that you’re still in one piece.  Hooves to horn, everything seems perfect.  You’ve still got your pack.

“But, the spell…”

>You snort and turn to face the rubble again.  The magic flows easier this time; it always does after the initial push.  You feel yourself hurtling into the image you’ve created and feel the air around you shiver and quake.  Snapping open your eyes, you see that you haven’t moved.

“I-I…”

>You turn towards a rocky outcropping, and propel yourself towards it, not even bothering to close your eyes this time.  The scene below is exactly as it should be, you perched high above the workers, able to see exactly what’s going on.  Another blink and you’re inside the tent the exploration team has been using as a base camp, a successful transition into an area you couldn’t see.

>The spell is working just fine, except when you try to enter the altar room.

>The fact that you can still perform magic does little to ease your growing frustration.  Someone, or something, is keeping you from entering that room.

“Well, if I can’t blink in there, we’ll have to go through the old fashioned way.”

 

>

>Reaching forward, you grab another handful of rubble and pull it towards you.  As so many times before, this triggers an avalanche of falling rocks that very nearly knocks you off your feet.  Across the way, you can hear Gilda laughing at you, the airy, cheerful sound welcome after your encounter early in the morning.

“Still trying to get yourself killed?  Just remember, I prefer my meals moist, not squashed.”

>Despite the spat, she seems to be in much better spirits than she has been in recent days, focused and alert.  You wish you could say the same about yourself.

>You’re irritable, there’s no doubt about that.  Gilda isn’t the best company, but she’s not bad enough to warrant the irrational spikes in frustration towards her.  You do remember to keep your tongue in check, however, speaking only when you’re feeling rational and level headed.  These moments, due the throbbing headache you’re suffering from, are few and far between.

>Still, Gilda seems to at least appreciate that you’re down in the tunnel with her again.  While little headway has been made, you’re not sure how much work you can actually do, considering you’re running out of light.

>Prior to the cave-in, the tunnel was lit by small glowing stones in the wall, which had been placed by the exploration team.  You had stumbled across a handful, all shattered, their pale ethereal light freed from its rocky tomb.

>A chill causes the hair on the back of your neck to jump to attention.  You drop the stone without a second look, no need to get philosophical about it.

 

>Glancing over at Gilda, you see that she has slowed a little since the day began.  It’s only natural that exhaustion would set in, but her eyes seem glassy, her breathing labored more than it should be.  Taking a few seconds to push the pain in your head onto the back burner, you approach the griffon.

“Gilda, you’re not looking too good.”

>Those gold eyes jump to you, you can see the snarky response building behind them.

>“You couldn’t pass for decent either, snack pack.”

>Despite the name calling, you swallow what’s left of your pride and smile.  To your relief, Gilda eases up a little as well, the anger disappearing from her eyes.

“It’s been a hard day, and we’ve made some progress, what say we call it quits and take it easy until bedtime?”

>“You’re serious?”

>Gilda laughs, shaking her head.  The sound is tired now, less melodious, but familiar and warm, like old leather.  When you don’t respond, she cocks her head to the side, then rights herself, smiling.

>“You know, this is probably going to be the last day we can work like this.  I, don’t think I have it in me to crawl down here again.”

>Her words begin to hitch halfway through, a small tremor working its way through her body.  You recognize the momentary lapse into fear.  Walking over, you place a hand on her neck.  She jumps, but doesn’t jerk away, taking several quiet seconds to look up at you.

“Well, at least the company’s going to be good.”

>Your words hang in the air for several moments before a small chuckle escapes Gilda’s beak and she gives a nod.  As you fall in step behind her, beginning the ascent, she glances back at you, her eyes curling up into a smile.

 

>“You’re all right, Fleabag.”

>You wave, laughing it off, and stumble up after her, your head pounding.

>She has a point, this will probably be the last time you come down this tunnel unless you’re rescued.  Ha, seems Gilda’s rubbing off on you. She does have a point, the very idea of moving is beginning to sound painful.

>Your muscles ache, your skull feels like someone’s hammering away inside of it.  You don’t even feel the need to piss.  That’s what concerns you the most.  Death by dehydration is not a pleasant thing and while you’re not familiar with the entire process, storing water waste can’t be a good sign.

>Gilda has curled up in her usual spot, and you make steady progress towards the griffon.  As you sit down beside her, you realize how tired you really are, feeling yourself drifting into the ceiling.  An eerie quiet settles over the room again.

>You try to turn to Gilda to make conversation, but the very idea of moving sets your head pounding.  Perhaps it would be better to just stay here, staring off into space until it’s time to go.

>“Hey, Anon.”

“Mmm...”

>“Hey.  Look at me!”

>Four talons grip your jaw.  For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to dig into you, but instead she turns your head with a surprising grace, the murderous claws not even indenting into your skin.  Gilda’s eyes are narrowed, she’s scowling again.

>“Don’t you go off and die before me.”

“E-excuse me, are you telling me that I’m not allowed to die now?”

>Your ribs begin to shake and you feel your body sliding down the altar.  You continue to laugh even as you’re on the floor, staring up at her with tears in your eyes.

“You can’t be serious.”

>“I am.  You can’t die yet.  If you did I...”

 

>Her voice trails off as you sit up, taking a few scoots closer to her.  She hasn’t noticed yet, her eyes locked on the ground in front of her.  Leaning your shoulder against her, you try to get the rest of the sentence out of her.

“You what?”

>Gilda jumps and pulls back away from you when she realizes the proximity between the two of you.  After a nervous laugh, she blows her bangs out of the way and rolls her eyes, giving her usual ‘simply don’t give a fuck’ grin.

>“Pft, whatever.  Forget it.  Why don’t you go back to your nap?”

>Putting some distance between the two of you, she flops on the ground.  For the first time you can remember, her back is facing you.  You take a few steps closer.

“Gilda.”

>“I thought I told you to forget about it.”

“Gilda...”

>“I don’t care!  Go to sleep!”

>Her voice carries through the room, echoing back a few times before quiet seeps back in.  Rooted to the spot, you watch her, seeing her shoulders shudder as her breathing catches in her throat.

>She doesn’t turn as you begin to shuffle towards her, leaning heavily on the stone altar for support as you make your way along.  Even when you sit down next to her, she seems adamant about staying in place.  You shrug and rest an elbow on her hindquarters.

>“What do you think you’re doing, you overgrown leamer?”

“Just thinking about a joke I heard back home.”

>“Monkey humor, great.  Why don’t you enlighten me?”

 

“All right, so a pony walks up to a bar and takes a seat.  He coughs a few times but the bartender doesn’t pay any attention to him.  He kicks the bar, but the bartender doesn’t move.  So the pony picks up a glass and tosses it at the bartender.  The bartender turns and says ‘There’s no need to throw a fit, if you want something just say so!’  The pony looks up and says ‘Sorry, I’m a little horse’.”

>The quiet that falls between you two is perhaps the most uncomfortable feeling since getting stuck down here.  Even more than her attacking your neck this morning and the shadows creeping along the edge of your vision at night.  Gilda opens her beak, but it falls shut again before any sound escapes.  She spends a fair amount of time staring at you, as if trying to figure out if you were worth keeping around after that awful joke.

>“What’s a horse?”

>Oh boy.  Squirming against the ground, you begin to explain the joke to Gilda, including the necessary footnotes about how ponies grow into horses in your world.  As you explain, the griffon waves as if uninterested in the concept of ‘big ponies’, but does pull herself a little closer to you.

>“So, what other kinds of weird animals live in your world?”

“Well, I don’t really know.  I mean, lots of animals here in  Equestria, we have counterparts of back on earth.  Except for pegasi, unicorns and the like.”

>“How about griffons?”

>You give an apologetic smile and shake your head.

“We’ve got lions and we’ve got eagles, but no griffons.”

>“Sounds pretty boring.  I’m glad I don’t live in your weird world.”

 

>Despite the fact that your world is ‘boring’ and ‘weird’, she continues to ask you questions about it.  You tell her about the giant buildings which overshadow even Canterlot Castle and the sprawling cityscapes that surround them.  She takes a particular interest in your explanation of human-flight, suitably impressed that a ground-bound species such as ‘apes’ managed to conquer the skies.

>In turn, she takes some time to talk about the Griffon tribes.   The constant change of territorial borders with each other, and with the gradually expanding Equestria.  She touches, cautiously, on the struggles of the tribes with Celestia.

>“What it boils down to is that the old leaders are too afraid to speak out on anything involving Equestria.  They think that if they do, Celestia will take away the sun, or something equally awful.”

“But Celestia would never do anything like that.  She’s a kind-hearted pony.”

>Gilda shrugs and stares up at the ceiling.

>“When was the last time you heard of anyone without magical prowess standing in opposition to anything Celestia says or does?”

>You fall quiet and she continues when it becomes apparent you can’t refute that.

>“Whether she’s good or fair isn’t the point.  The fact is, no one knows how much power she actually has.  If she decided not to raise the sun, or to never let it set, who could stand up to that?  Certainly not the Griffons, we don’t have magicians, or wizards, or spell casters.  So, whenever Canterlot wants something, we simply take it on the beak and keep going.  No one in charge wants to see what she might do.”

 

>The conversation descends into quiet contemplation.  You’re certain that Celestia would never intentionally seek to do harm to an entire species, but because of her position she doesn’t get out much amongst the other residents of Equestria.  Perhaps, if you get out, you can suggest something like that to her, a chance for her to meet the needs of the other species, as well as the ponies.

>It would be good for P.R. at least.

>Sometime during your conversation with Gilda she had decided to make herself comfortable by leaning against you, her foreclaws successfully trapping your left arm against her body.  Nestled there within her warm fur, you feel her heartbeat, still fast, but erratic in strength.  Sometimes it would almost disappear, only to come thundering back.

>Amidst the distant echoes of her heart, you feel yourself sliding towards sleep.  There’s still several hours of daylight left, probably, but getting up and moving around seems like far too much work.  A quick glance down at Gilda, confirming she’s asleep or getting close, and you allow yourself to slip into unconsciousness.

>

>After the unsuccessful blinking attempts, you decided to take some time to recover.  Not because you were tired, but because it would be necessary to be fully charged for what you had planned.

>Magic, aside from being your talent, is just interesting as a whole.  The ability to act on objects to change their properties or position in space, it’s really quite a rush. Your skin shivers with anticipation as you stare down the tunnel.

>“Ms. Sparkle, all unicorns and griffons are clear of the work area.”

“Very good.”

 

>As you breathe, the magic begins to flow through you again, up the throat and into your horn.  Projecting the magic outward, telekinetic tendrils begin to remove rubble.  As it falls aside, you feel yourself delving deeper into the spell, drawing up more and more of the available magic as you do.  Some stones begin to roll away on their own, illuminated by your purple power, the removed rubble stacking itself neatly off to the side of the tunnel.

>But that’s not enough.  Anon is dying, Gilda too.  You pour more into your efforts, feeling your body tense as you approach your magical threshold.

>Rocks are flying by this point, you’re making decent headway, when the tunnel quivers.  No problem, you were ready for this!  Projecting another swell of magic forward, you create a purple wall, holding back the oncoming tide of rubble from above.

“Yes!”

>Grinning, you continue to face forward, focused on the task at hand.  Soon, Anon.  Soon.

>

>The last rays of daylight bring you back to consciousness.  Dust motes flutter down beams of quiet orange, before disappearing against the grey rock.  Sometime during your nap, Gilda removed her vice grip on your arm and slipped away.

“G-”

>Your voice catches in your throat, leaving a raw, ragged feeling as the words are swallowed.  After a moment, you try again.

“Gilda?  Where’d you go?”

>“Still here, Anon, still here.”

>The measured cool has returned to her voice.  She has found herself a perch on one of the fallen rocks and set her eyes on you.  Her tail twitches from one side to the other.  Placing  your hands on the ground, you try and push yourself to your feet.

“What are you doing over there?”

>“Listening.  Thinking.”

 

>More enthusiastic twitches from the tail, that cocksure grin with a dozen secrets behind it.  That whole getting to your feet thing?  Not happening.  With an aggravated grunt, you drop your arms to the ground and focus on her.

“To who and about what?  We’re the only ones here.”

>She smiles and stretches herself out, putting her haunches in the air while lowering her chest and sighing.  Pushing herself from her perch, she lands with a silent thump, before stalking closer, each paw falling in line behind the others.  A sudden chill worms its way through your body, setting up shop in your gut, vice-like fingers probing and squeezing as they go.

>You try and scramble to your feet, but your eyes are connected with hers, but all of your will to fight seeps into the cold stone.  She straddles you, one paw on either side of your hip, the others resting next to your ears.  At this distance, you can see the smile faltering, as if she’s not sure how to proceed.

>Then her talons descend around your neck.

>The feel of her raptor feet is surprisingly smooth, the scales sliding along your tender flesh as she tightens her grip.  Her talons create shallow ridges in your flesh, drawing trickles of blood.

>Your body, sluggish and slow, finally realizes what is going on and begins to thrash.  Your mind catches up seconds later.

“Gilda, what are you doing?”

>“I, I have to.”

>Her voice cracks as her pupils dilate.  Despite the difference in size, she has the advantage in position and strength.  Her feet tighten again around your neck.  You try to speak only to find you can’t take a breath to do so.

>“If you die, then I can leave.  I can leave here, I don’t have to die.”

 

>Regaining some measure of control over your body, you lift your hands and try to push her off of you.  Dehydration and a sudden lack of oxygen have left you weak and the palm pushing against her chest does nothing but cause her grip to tighten.

>Darkness flirts with the edge of your vision, the terrible shadow things creeping in closer, pack hunters closing in for the kill.  You croak up at Gilda, the only sound you can manage.  Meeting her eyes again, you see her body beginning to convulse.  The shadows slink in around her.

>“If, if you die… if you die…”

>Her feet falter and you gasp a breath.  The shadows linger a moment longer, then vanish in the quiet light of sunset.  Wheezing, you look up at Gilda and struggle to form words around the new impressions she left in your throat.

>“If you die, I’m going to be alone.”

>The griffon collapses on top of you, her feet clutching at your shoulders now as she shakes.

>“I’m going to die here, alone.”

>Your hands push into her fur, but she only grips tighter, aware enough of her talons this time to avoid digging into you.

>“No!  Don’t, don’t push me away!  I need you, you stupid ape, I need you.”

>You aren’t sure if Griffon’s can cry, if they have tear ducts at all.  Chances are you’ll never know, her body refuses to let any water leave the body unnecessarily, just like yours.  But the way she clings to your chest, with her voice quivering and body shaking, you’d like to think that if she could, she would.

“You,”

>A cough to find your voice, though the action sends barbs of pain up your cracked throat.

“You were going to kill me.”

 

>“Something told me to.”

>Her eyes are wide, staring down at you from your chest.

>“In the back of my mind.  It said that only one of us is getting out of here, that they would have to kill the other to survive.”

>Yup.  She’s cracked.  Scratch that, she was already cracked when you met, now she’s gone round the bend and is straight up broken.

“So, what stopped you?”

>“What if I’m wrong?”

>Panic seeps into her voice, her shoulders heaving.

>“What if it’s this hole or some kind of madness?  What if they never come?  If I kill you, I have to keep going for days until I die.  Days that I’ll have to spend alone.”

>Her talons wrap around your hand and she finally averts her eyes to the side.

>“I, I think I’d rather die sooner, with you, than go on for days alone.  Dying from dehydration is bad.  Dying from it alone, is the worst.  That’s why I couldn’t do it.  That’s why you can’t go before me!  You can’t leave me alone in this hole, okay?”

>Her foot tightens around your hand.  She is afraid.  She’s trying to control it, like she does everything else.

“Gilda, I…”

>“You are going to stay here, with me.  If we die, we die together.”

“But”

>“No!  No, I’m sorry.  I know it was wrong, I don’t know why I did it.  But, A-Anon, I need you.  I need you to be willing to help me see this through.  I don’t think I can make it alone.  If you have to die before me, please, just stay as long as you can.  Please.”

>Anger boils up inside you.  You’re dying, and she’s still trying to make demands like it makes a difference.  In a few days, heck, in a few hours, you may be dead.  You can’t control that.  You can’t control anything about this!  She knows that.

 

>But that’s not entirely true.

>This situation has gotten entirely out of hand and nothing you do will aid in your escape.  Your body suffers from instances where it simply won’t move.  Nothing you do will fix anything physically wrong with you.

>But you can control your interactions with Gilda.  You could even make them pleasant.  It isn’t much, but when waiting for death, the little things are the only ones you have influence over.

>Your anger dwindles to a small patch of embers.  Gilda, in your prolonged silence, has been trying to meet your eyes, to get some idea of what you’re thinking.  She’s wrapped both her feet around your hand now, a defeated smile reflecting in her gold eyes.

“Okay.”

>The words sound strangled and forced, but her face lights up and she pulls you into a hug.  Subtle scents of down and stone mingle in your nose, soothing and familiar, and yes, a little scary too.  There’s a note of finality as well.  When you go, this will be the smell that surrounds you.

>There are worse ways to go.

>Like being choked by a crazy griffon.

>She holds you against her for a long time before finally crawling off your chest.  Taking a step or two away, she stretches herself out and gives you an inviting look, wing arched just above her back.

>Stumbling over on your hands and knees, you collapse against her body, allowing the irregular beats of her heart and the warmth of her body to carry you away into sleep.