Chapter Nine

>You stare up at the night sky as the fire slowly recedes into the glowing coals

> You search the stars for the familiar constellations your father taught you long ago

> It was a forlorn endeavor, the stars changed position every night. There was no Big Dipper, Orion, or even a north star.

> But you still looked for them, you still scanned the heavens for those familiar shapes, hoping for some small piece of the home you lost

> And every night you were greeted by another alien sky, another reminder of where you were.

> You’ve been living in the forest for two weeks now

> For the first week, you would occasionally glimpse a pegasus flying through the air above you, sending you diving for cover

> Even from the ground you could make out their white coats and the gleam of golden armor.

> They never found your camp, and the sightings became less and less frequent as the days went by

> Eventually they stopped altogether, either giving up the search or looking elsewhere

> You should have been glad. You escaped. You were alive.

> But that was it. You were just alive.

> You knew you could survive out here indefinitely, and without a dedicated search effort you would never be found by those ponies

> And while you were glad you avoided death, you now realized you have to face life here

> You likely were never going to go back home, but you mourned that long ago while chained in the dark

> What you dreaded was the future. You would live out the rest of your days here. Just hunting and surviving. Day after day. Alone with your thoughts.

> With a heavy sigh you rise to your feet, heading inside for some sleep.

>You wake up to the familiar sight of the stone ceiling

> Sunlight spills through the cave opening, illuminating your surroundings

> You groan and roll over, trying to get as comfortable as possible

> Your built a makeshift bed after the first week by piling animal furs over a foundation of fresh cedar branches.

> I wasn’t a proper mattress, but it was surprisingly comfy. Certainly better than stone

> You bury your face in your arms. You don’t want to get up. What was the damn point anymore?

> Yeah, you were free. But free to do what? To hunt and forage until your body grows weak with age and you no longer have the strength to feed yourself?

> No, you weren’t free. This damn world was your prison. You escaped death only to be condemned to exile. There were no other options, no other paths, no other choices.

> A loud growling from your stomach reminds you of your hunger

> You force yourself to your feet. At least your back didn’t hurt anymore

> You open a small rabbit-skin pouch near your bed, reaching inside and helping yourself to a small handful of raspberries you found yesterday

> After your meager breakfast, you sling your quiver over your shoulder and grab your bow before heading outside

>It doesn’t take long for you to find suitable prey.

> You’ve learned the ins and outs of these woods, becoming familiar with the animal’s habits and preferences

> You still avoid the western part of the forest. Who knows what other monstrosities lurk there.

> A turkey meanders between the trees, oblivious to your presence a few meters away.

> Hunting has been second nature to you for years. You could have done this in your sleep

> You draw back the bow and release perfectly, the broadhead flying forth in a clean arc

> The turkey is struck in the side of its head, falling to the ground with only a small *thump*

> As you begin to rise to collect your kill, you hear a loud flapping noise above the trees,

> You quickly draw another arrow, slipping back into the cover of the foliage

> Something large and feathery lands near the downed turkey

> It has the head of an eagle with the body of a lion, with large brown feathered wings on it’s back

> It’s fur is the same dark brown, but it’s head is covered in white feathers. A small crown of larger feathers sits atop it’s head, the ends colored a faint lavender. You see a similar coloration surrounding it’s eyes

> You recognize this creature. What were they called again? Oh yeah, griffons, that’s right.

> The griffon walks over to the turkey and picks it up in one talon, turning it around and inspecting it

> You hold your breath and remain still, trying to remain hidden. That thing looks dangerous. You do not want to tangle with it.

> It looks away from the bird and begins scanning the forest in your direction

> After only a short sweep, it’s eyes meet with yours

> What? It found you already? Dang, it must have great eyesight.

> The griffon crouches down, wings flaring up behind it

> You quickly stand and draw your bow, anchoring your hand behind your cheekbone

> The griffon glares at you, it’s talons digging into the soft dirt

> “What the heck are you?”

> The sudden question stuns you for a moment

> Holy crap that thing talks?

> The voice was harsh and abrasive, but definitely feminine. So it was a girl griffon?

> You must have been silent for a while, because she repeats the question

> “I said, what the heck are you?”

> You clear your throat and answer

“I’m a human”

>”Human, huh? Never heard of them.”

“I’m not exactly from here”

> “Well then,” she responds, her voice laced with suspicion, “what do you want?”

> You nod toward the turkey on the ground

“That is my dinner. Give it back.”

>She looks at the bird for a moment, and the returns her gaze to you

> “It’s mine now, freak. And what makes you think I’ll just give it back?” She demands, taking one step forward

> You shift your aim down and fire, embedding an arrow between the talons of her claw.

> With a startled squawk she leaps back, landing several feet away

> She flares her wings and crouches as she lands, preparing to pounce, but stops when she sees you already have another arrow drawn

“The next one goes between your eyes. Back off.”

> You could just end this right now, but killing another sentient could create problems. You don’t want to risk it.

>She looks back at the arrow impaled in the turkey’s head, realizing that it’s no idle threat

> She looks you in the eye, staring daggers at you

> “Your name…” She sneers, “What is it?”

“Anon”

>”I’m Gilda. Remember that. This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me.”

> With that she launches herself straight up into the air, quickly flying out of view.

> You relax the tension of the bow, letting out a sigh

> You retrieve your arrow from the ground and collect the shot turkey, mulling over what just happened

> You think your stay here just got a little more interesting.