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"Come on, you sons of bitches! Take me to my ancestors!"

The challenge cry rang across the open plains and through the tall grass. They had needed rest, and after two weeks of nearly nonstop running, they were rapidly running out of ground to flee upon.

There were scarcely ten of their company left now. Nine, if you included the one-sided delaying action that one of their number was now undertaking. Debastian. His name would live on. Another notch in Chief Stryker's arm to accompany all the others they had lost in his raid would see to that.

Assuming any of them actually made it out alive to recount the tale.

Their mixed band of feline and prey species raiders had fled after putting half a canine keep into the lake at the foot of the mountain. They succeeded in their goals by giving the coalition dogs a taste of the savagery they had been inflicting upon the feline lands for years. By those standards, they had succeeded beyond even their wildest expectations.

Perhaps too much for such a small force.

Within a day, they had been forced to abandon their stolen airship, with no way to refuel it. Within three days, their foes had caught their scent, and by the dawn of the fourth, the pursuers were within a league of their tails and hot on them as well.

Since then, they had played the prey in this song and dance, making a beeline towards the feline territories, but it was a long way to travel on foot.

All they found were shambles of villages and scant few survivors to aid their flight west. They had stopped hiding out in those, though, after the first they went through, when their chasers put them to the torch. They had been forced to watch the smoke rise behind them, knowing there was nothing they could do for the few Felines left in such places.

So they ran. They ran as hard and as fast as they could, desperately trying to stay even a single step ahead of the chase. They ran like demons from the underworld were upon their heels, and even a single moment of hesitation would spell their doom.

Mountains gave way to grasslands, which gave way to open savannahs, where at least the long grass might provide them with a moment of cover from the airships they could see on the horizon. It may have been their home once, but now all of it was annexed territory. They were still well behind enemy lines.

They had casualties along the way. Affrond, a Stag, missed a divot and snapped his leg. Alzeer had made sure his death was painless. Kasper, one of their leopards with the lithe cadre of scouts, had gone ahead and not returned. More still had simply collapsed where they stood and been left, exhaustion and fatigue in the merciless heat claiming them as surely as any arrow.

Food was scarce, and time to cook or hunt while on the move was nonexistent. They subsided on one-quarter rations and scant sips of water from rapidly draining skins. Rest was in fleeting, brief spats that were often interrupted moments later by an alarm call.

Then, it was back to running. But after fourteen days of this and still no sign of reprieve, everyone was exhausted, and tensions were high.

"We should have stayed and died! Better to give an account of ourselves than to flee like cowards. Look around, Alzeer!" The panther shouted at his Chieftain, tail lashing. They had all stripped down to the bare minimum, often just pants or loincloths, plus what else they needed to carry their few remaining supplies. It was amazing that they had survived this long.

All of them were filthy, unwashed fur glistening with sweat and a fine coat of dust that made each of them appear to have shades of brown all over. They had grown thin, and their eyes were tired to a man, dark and recessed.

Even Alzeer, the eight-foot beast and prime example of an Amasii Lion Rex, who could have wrestled Dire wolves if he chose, looked but a shadow of himself. His dark and tan pelt was matted with grime and dirt, though his fierce eyes still blazed, but with the intensity of glowing coals rather than an enraged inferno.

It was going out in all of them. Eventually, something would have to give or, more likely, someone.

Alzeer met the panther's glare with one of his own, and after a tense moment, the smaller male broke contact, looking away chastised. They all knew the reality of their situation was bleak with even an optimistic outlook. Infighting would serve the few survivors no benefit.

"You think I do not know this? But it is not our part to die here, Wynd." He growled, calling out the panther by name. "This ledger, what you saw, and what Prowl-foot found beneath the castle. Those things MUST reach the Pride. They must know. The entire fate of feline-kind may well depend on it… I pray to the gods and spirits both that it is not so, but we cannot take such a gamble." He put his foot down firmly for emphasis, flattening the thin stalks of long grass beneath his broad pads.

Reaching up, Alzeer's paw stroked across his dust-covered features, tracing the length of his muzzle. This wasn't how he'd imagined going out, but it was looking more and more certain with every mile they covered. Soon, they would reach the edge of the desert, and their choices would narrow to 'Die of heat' or 'Die from wolves'. Everywhere seemed to be hostile land now.

A sudden cry got his attention as one of the two remaining scouts in their band ran into their small clearing, waking those few who had just managed to shut their eyes.

"Alzeer! Get everyone up! They're coming, but Prowl-foot found something! You will want to see this!"

---

The skull was the most unsettling part. Or perhaps it was the number of them. The markers were uniform, simple stakes with a cross pole at the top and dried, cleaned skulls of various creatures mounted on their ends. Each had a necklace with three broad, long bird feathers on it. A hundred feet apart, they ran along as far as anyone could make out in either direction, pressing north and south at even intervals.

The air was uneasy with the group's tension. Everybody kept watch, suspicious of anything that might have moved in the eerie silence. Even exhausted as they were, now they were on edge also, awake as freshly rested children, afraid the boogeyman was coming for their souls.

The analogy wasn't necessarily an inaccurate one. The skulls weren't from feral beasts.

Turn back, the effigy markers taunted silently, with sun-bleached, laughing grins of the damned. Turn back, or you will be the next marker.

The air was utterly still and silent. Even the breeze had died. Their only sign of pursuit was a pair of airships hanging back some distance, undoubtedly watching them, waiting to report their next move. Their tormentors had not come any closer after their last near miss.

"We should go around… to the south, all the way to the sea perhaps. If we could find a boat-"

Someone suggested, but they were silenced with a dismissive wave of Alzeer's paw.

"We cannot. I know these markers, but not how far they run. We face probable death ahead if we continue this way or certain death in all other directions. We know the devil behind us, and they will not be merciful. Our deaths will be long and painful, but they will be certain in the end. There is no other choice. We move forward, and if we are lucky, we escape the Gryphons' attention long enough to lose our pursuers for good this time…" The lion paused, looking out to the commanding, steep cliffed hills in the west. For a moment, he could have sworn there was a figure circling above on the thermals. When he looked again, it was gone. He didn't discount the possibility, though.

"If not… then we cross that bridge when we reach it. And pray that the devil we do not know at least makes it a quick and clean death."

Without another word, he took the first step beyond the territory markers and ventured into the unknown, setting a path towards the distant hilltops, jutting like mesas from the yellow grass sea. If nothing else, they might find temporary refuge in the shade of the cliffs before moving on.

---

"Sir, they've gone beyond the borders. The troops refused to go further without additional reinforcements." The canine watcher reported but was quickly waved down by his superior, watching as the distant figures ventured forward to their dooms.

"It does not matter. They will die, one way or another. Send a message by runner, someone you trust absolutely. Let Warwick know that his services are required at once."

---

Far above, well beyond the sight of either felines or canines, another set of eyes watched dutifully, broad, black wings catching the air rising from the heated plains below.

He made note of all he saw and all that he suspected but did not see also. Often, the absence of detail itself bore other, hidden meanings. The intruders had crossed the territory markers uninvited, though, and for that, they would be marked for death.

But perhaps not right away.

This much activity on the border had not been seen since before this one's hatch day. And more significant events going on beyond their borders had been foreseen to spill over. The coming storm was inevitable, it was known, but how and where it would break upon them was still uncertain.

It would be wiser and counselled to learn what they could of these events now that this opportunity had presented itself. And as long as the canines did not follow in force with their airships and fluttering banners, the risk was kept to an acceptable level.

He banked with a gust as it passed, catching the wind beneath his wings in a vast, swooping turn that would carry him comfortably home without ever needing to flap the mighty feathered appendages.

These tidings would go back to the chief, and he would know what to make of such omens and the intruders.

---

The feline raiding party reached the edge of the mountains. That, in and of itself, was far more than Alzeer had expected. Beneath the towering faces of grey stone, they found refuge from the heat and, for the first time, flowing water from a crack between the rocks.

The first laps of it had been as crisp and refreshing as a spring breeze, and Alzeer had allowed himself to drink his fill before relaxing against the base of a scraggly tree nearby. The others, those who were left, had done likewise, and for once, they had rested without a watch, still able to make out the canine airships in the far distance behind them.

The vessel had been moored in the grass sea and had not moved forward beyond the line of markers. Not yet, at least. It was a reprieve and one that Alzeer fully intended to take advantage of, though he would feel better once they reached the opposite edge of the rocky mesa-like mountain and had them well out of sight.

The lion stretched out as the stars rose overhead and allowed himself to rest for once without worry. Either they would die here, or they would not. For the first time since the raid, he suspected the latter might be in more favourable odds.

The pair of snowy white Gryphons that had been watching them for the last hour hadn't moved, blending into a vein of quartz that ran along the rockface almost impeccably, but Alzeer had seen them. He was sure the warriors knew it as well, but still, they had remained as stoic and unmoving as the stone they perched upon.

If they really wanted his group dead, he did not doubt that they would have been already. Almost reverently, in deference to the natives of this land, he touched two fingers to his brow and nodded, his eyes locked to the quartet of faint, golden eyes on the mountainside, almost indistinguishable from the background of their chosen hide.

After a moment, he might have sworn they nodded back, though perhaps it was his imagination. He let himself drift off beneath the leaves and stars and did not wake until the sun was rising in the eastern sky.

---

Alzeer was awoken by an urgent hiss. Instantly roused to alertness, he instinctively reached for the blade at his waist, which was conspicuously absent.

The morning was brisk, and a chill settled upon him almost at once. Fog surrounded the base of the hill, obscuring everything beyond a spear's throw distance, and the trees around them no longer seemed like a welcoming refuge but a bracketing wall, penning them in among the ancient bark trunks. In the branches, he made out gryphons. Dozens of them, all silently watching, their weapons drawn but not levelled.

As calmly as he could, he unstoppered his waterskin and refilled it from the trickling source in the hillside. The others had awoken already and backed into a defensive circle, their eyes darting around the new arrivals. He noticed that their weapons were also missing.

"Calm down." He muttered, raising the skin to his lips and taking another draught of the water. His tail gave a solitary flick behind him. A path had been cleared for them, subtly but noticeably visible between the trees.

"They want to talk. If they didn't, we would be dead. We might still be if any of you are foolish enough to unsheath so much as a claw." He did his best to instil calm and collected tones in his voice.

He looked about, glancing between the eyes that watched their every move. They were like hawks… possibly exactly that, he mused. But they had every opportunity to slay them where they stood, and yet, they had shown restraint. Or perhaps curiosity.

Truthfully, Alzeer could not recall if he had ever heard more than vague tales of the Gryphon lands. Nobody went there. Those who did simply did not return. What stories he knew were all glances from the borders or tribal tales from a time so far past that dates did not exist, and the concept of recording such knowledge was as abstract as the idea of charting the stars.

In the wild, they were rare beasts. Many sought to tame or capture them for display or even as mounts, though those who had managed such feats were few and far, and Alzeer personally knew of none. Many noble houses used them upon their sigils and banners, seeing them as an icon of strength and wisdom, the supposed king of terrestrial beasts.

Others saw them as abnormalities. Their mere existence was an unnatural fusion of feline and avian, and even looking upon them now, proud and powerful as these warriors were, he could see why that view had become increasingly dominant. They moved with unnatural feline grace and agility. Yet they resembled little of his kin, larger, more powerful and differently proportioned in their bones and muscles to any feline, or avian for that matter.

They were a combination of both, yet sat in neither camp. He could not say how such a seemingly perfect combination of predators had come to be. Even in his day, he knew of only one successful pairing between the avians of the high peaks and the felines of the plains, and the child had been born wholly feline, with very few resemblances to the avian cub's sire. No wings, no hawk eyes, certainly no beak or feathers. It was the way such unions always went. Children born of mixed-species unions were either-or. Never both. It was how the canines intended to breed felines out of existence with his kind's captured females. Already, the dogs had a significant advantage in numbers.

How, then, gryphons had come to be was a mystery. He had always assumed it to be some arcane tampering well and truly before even his sire's time. There had never been any way to prove any other, and what records mentioned them were scant on details as to just when and how they had appeared.

They were like the mountain before him. It had always been there, and none bothered to question why it was so.

Even as he contemplated, the fog along the path began to clear, and a prominent, feral figure strode towards him out of it, golden beak curved into a vicious grin.

---

His scouts had told him there had been more than just the ragged-looking group that stood before him, circled protectively around the remains of the small fire in their midst.

Even as he strode his massive and fearsome Gryphonic majesty and might into their midst, they seemed to accept their fate, parting away from his might as his eyes fixed each in turn.

All but one, at least.

Storm had been the leader of his flock for over a decade. He was first among equals as the high council went, and thus, when it had been brought to their attention that a group of felines had passed the boundary markers of their borders, it had been his suggestion of speaking with the intruders that had carried with it the most weight.

After all, who better to speak with them than their best warrior? If things did come to blows, the situation would quickly resolve itself. That he also spoke several other dialects of the region and had negotiated in the past with other species also only played to his credit.

His sleek, black feathers seemed to drift through the fog like oil over water, the tribal markings upon his breast and shoulders plain to see. He towered over the felines as he was, a hulking mass of quadruped gryphon. His mere presence demanded the respect of these strangers in his lands, each of them backing away to make room as he prowled through their midst, an apex predator among prey.

All but that one lion. He stood his ground resolutely, unflinching even before Storm's impressive bulk. He reared back on his hind legs, wings pumping as their majestic black span blotted out the light in the clearing momentarily and gave a piercing screech that was taken up in turn by the warriors in the trees around him.

And yet, for all of the show, the lion was unmoved. Instead, he merely nodded his head as if in a respectful greeting, clearly waiting to be addressed as an equal, as whatever code of honour he followed drove him to adhere to.

A warbling chuckle passed the massive Gryphon's beak, rumbling in his throat like the mountain moving and yet melodious. The lion amused him. It took some heavy stones to not baulk in fear at such a show and still to demand his respect.

Hmmmph. Very well. Let us see how this lion measures up to a gryphon. Storm rolled his shoulders back, a breath escaping his flared nostrils as he reared back once more. Almost immediately, a wind struck up where there had been none, pulling dust and leaf litter into a swirling vortex that surrounded the Gryphon.

Lightning and sparks crackled and flashed in its midst as his entire figure shifted, shoulders rolling back, spine straightening, his entire musculature rippling like water beneath his feathers as the transformation worked its way across his naked form. The transformation was obscured by the swirling vortex of wind, and those few who caught glances of what occurred beyond were struck, unable to ever quite properly describe what they witnessed. Suffice it to say that it was not a natural phenomenon.

Each aspect of his body shifted proportionately to his anthropomorphic form, changing and adjusting as required to match the now upright specimen of the male before them. When, at last, it was all over, the winds vanished as quickly as they had gathered, and silence once more reigned in the shadow of the mountain. Storm stood before them even now, seemingly larger and bolder than a dire wolf, his wings flexing as he rolled his arms, stretching this way and that with no more discomfort than as if he had merely been changing outfits.

The group before him simply stared in wonder, clearly unaccustomed to seeing such a dramatic transformation. His kind was uncommon, after all. Maybe it simply was that they had never seen such a wonderful sight.

He flexed his frame, his massive wings stretching nearly forty feet across at the full extension. His muscled torso and arms were on full display, as was the plump breeder sheath and the hefty sac that hung between his legs. He caught more than one of the intruders averting their eyes with pinkened noses. At least one of them was a female. He could smell her on the air and caught the tigress watching him with keen, unabashed interest, golden eyes narrowed and staring.

Hmmmm. A shame I'll probably have to kill them all. He mused.

It was a show, he knew, but it was essential to assert his dominance, and frankly, a good stretch after the effort of changing his very being felt wonderful. As much as it was for the intruders, it was his flock as well, reminding them just why the inky feathered stud was in charge. There was more than one cocky upstart, after all. Hell, he had been one of them once upon a time. And now here he was.

A white-plumed scout quickly ran in from the ring of warriors around them and made quick work of fastening his chief's loincloth in place to more appropriately and respectfully cover him to at least a modest degree before he offered him the bag of belongings that his scouts had collected from them in the night, minus the intruders' weapons.

Even as he was now, his nine-foot stature towered a full head taller than the lion in charge of this band. Their eyes met briefly before he turned back to his subordinate, speaking quickly in their own tongue, a rapid back and forth of birdsong interspaced with beak clicks and rolling, singsong syllables, impossible to reproduce accurately for any but the most talented of linguists. Mammalian vocal cords were simply unsuited for the task.

"You ensured they were disarmed? Anything of note?" He cut straight to the point, despite having no pressing need to, but couldn't deny a particular curiosity as to just why it was they had braved his lands. The markers were as clear a warning to outsiders as any other death omen. They would wait a moment longer while he was brought up to speed. Let them fuss and worry about his intentions. Perhaps they would speak more freely if they assumed that they were discussing what spices would go best with cats.

"A small assortment of weapons and tools. Their rations were all but gone. The leader-" The white gryphon jerked his chin in the male's direction. "Had a ledger from the canines, and one of the leopards had this as well amongst his pack."

Pulling the hood of the canvas pack open, He gestured to a small vial of faintly glowing red liquid. It reeked of magic just on appearance alone, and Storm immediately did not trust it. Something about it struck an instinctual chord in his hindbrain, like a long-buried instinct for aversion.

Cautiously, he raised it in his hands and flicked the simple latch that kept it sealed. At once, the scent hit him, a pang of primal desire and lust rolling through his veins like wildfire across a dry field. His body positively throbbed. It took a moment of intense physical will and restraint to seal the glass lid again. Whatever sorcery it was, it was powerful and dangerous… Enticing, yes, but without being sure exactly what the concoction was, his rational mind's warnings won out over his more base instincts.

He plucked out the ledger beneath it next. It was far more mundane, exactly what he would have expected from something belonging to the dogs. He briefly flicked through the pages, looking at the rows of names, dates, and prices in their harsh, runic lettering, but it may as well have been completely foreign to him.

"Slave sales?" He queried, almost disinterested as he set it back in the bag.

"We think so, but why they would have it is another matter." The Scout reported dutifully before taking the bag, which was thrust back upon him, and stepped back with a respectful bow.

"So…" The gryphon started, switching to a perfectly fluent feline dialect. “You come into my lands, armed, bearing stolen canine goods, starved, dehydrated, and pursued by a small army. You do all of this unannounced, uninvited, and unwelcomed. My scouts tell me you stopped at the markers of our border. Surely you knew the cost of crossing them?"

The leader stepped forward. There was a quiet clatter of weapons being tensely raised, and bowstrings being drawn back, but Storm silenced it with a calming gesture of his wing.

"We did, and if a blood toll must be paid, then I shall pay it myself. But we had no choice. It was my call to press onwards. Death has chased us since the new moon with gnashing fangs and snarling lips." The cat didn't stumble on his words or even attempt to excuse his actions. Indeed, even as his subordinate handed Storm his long-hafted spear, and he brought it around to level at the lion's chest, he did not flinch.

Looking into the lion's mismatched eyes, eyes of emerald and earth, Storm saw no traces of fear or doubt. He had said he would pay the blood price, and he had meant it.

"Hmmm. And if I decide to simply kill you and your companions here, and toss your remains back into the feline pride lands for those dogs to collect? What then?" He pressed forward with the haft, twisting the gleaming point against the lion's chest. The was a moment of resistance before it split skin and dug lightly through his pelt and into flesh, drawing a glistening drop of ruby blood that trailed down the silvered length of the blade.

"Then I fear that the canine's ambitions will soon place you at their mercy, the same as we are at yours. To them, you are just another part of their feline problem by any other name. Their solution doesn't change. It is your call." The lion nodded and lifted his chin to expose his throat, the most ancient and universal show of submission. He took a breath and released it calmly. His eyes fixed on the Gryphon's. "But if you do, make it quick. I have come too far to waste time dying slowly."

Storm's spear could have cut the silence if he chose. There was a moment where, unbeknownst to any of those present, a single choice could have tipped the fate of the world. Order and chaos hung in the balance, perilously poised on the point of the spear.

Storm laughed. It started softly, a muted chuckle that ruffled the feathers around the gryphon's throat before it quickly became a full-bodied cackle of mirth that the entirety of his flock joined in on like a private joke shared between them all. The spearpoint lowered. The balance of fate tipped and came to rest on its path.

"Those who come into our lands expecting to live through their trespass never make it out alive, but…" The Chieftain grinned, his golden beak parting in an amused smile.

"Perhaps an exception can be made for those who trespass expecting only death to greet them. I recognise you, Chief Stryker, though we have yet to meet. Consider this your blood toll."

With a flick of his spear and an elegant flourish, he spun the blade and brought it to a neat rest in his taloned hands by his side. The single drop of blood on its blade dripped down to stain the earth.

"These felines are to be my guests. Bring them food and drink, then help them up the path to our home. Tonight, you will feast with me and tell us what is so vital that you would risk extinction to ensure its escape."

With that, he turned and gestured with his spearpoint up the trail and into the rolling morning fog banks. He motioned for the felines to follow.

---

The village was nestled within a crater at the mesa's summit, tucked away behind the shallow walls of what was once, likely the mouth of an ancient volcano. The winding path up here threaded back and forth through a narrow gully that crisscrossed its way up the mountain, forcing anyone who attempted to make their way up the path to move no more than two abreast at the widest points. Most of the gryphons simply took to the sky, beating their mighty wings to skip across the walls of the walkway.

The lush vegetation here was entirely unlike the sparse baobab trees of the savannah below. Lush ferns of a verdant green and broad-leafed bush covered most of the unworked earth, with tall spruces reaching to the crater lip.

In the centre of it all was the source of the water they had found, quietly cascading from a smaller lip in the crater where an underground spring had forced its way up through the granite and hardened magma flows of centuries past. Over time, its flow had worn most of the stone smooth, leaving an almost idyllic spring in the centre of the cluster of structures and broad tents.

For Storm though, it was home, as certainly as much a home as he had ever known. Improvements had been made, of course. Paths were laid, houses and nests raised as young gryphlets' grew into their own, and even a camouflaged perch atop one of the trees to permit viewing beyond the crater's lip.

If the events of the last few years beyond their peaceful home had taught the black gryphon anything, it was that it was better to be prepared for the worst. He had flown far beyond the crater, perhaps further than nearly any other gryphon in recorded history, and had seen the movements of armies. He had witnessed the trail of destruction that such hosts left in their wake. Smelled the smoke of war in the air, and much like his namesake, he saw the coming storm.

Despite the other members of the high council's crass dismissal that such a conflict would ever find their remote home, Storm harboured doubts. Their safety had always lain in their secrecy, as well as the stories that the other species told of his kind. Fear and superstition kept unwary travellers at bay, and the scouts and soldiers could deal with any individuals who strayed beyond their border markers.

That this ragged band of Felines had chosen to willingly embrace death in order to come this far told him at once that their veil had been shattered. They couldn't rely on old wives' tales and secrecy to keep them safe any longer. Desperation had overridden any fear of a painful death.

Other groups would soon come, and how they met other travellers and aggressors would very quickly determine their starting position in the game, and where they stood on the board. It wasn't a matter of if more intruders would come, he concluded, but when.

Soon, he wagered bitterly against his personal hopes. And we had best be prepared to meet them when they do…

By mid-afternoon, everyone was settled, and several large stags caught from the fields far below were being butchered and roasted over carefully maintained fires, the fatty juices dripping into the flames with a satisfying hiss.

He sat down on his haunches, aside from one of the firepits, his sharp beak tearing chunks of perfectly roasted flesh from a roughly torn-off hunk of meat. His eyes watched the flames dance in mysterious patterns and with their own voracious hunger to consume all they touched. Perhaps it was an omen that he was to interpret their motions as such, knowing now what he did of the canine's coalition and their unquenchable thirst for land and resources.

“Tell me again of your daughter, the one you were unable to rescue from their keep. You mentioned she appears in this ledger?" He tapped the leather-bound book between himself and Alzeer, where the bulky framed lion was busily crouched over a pewter dish of antelope and small wildfowl. Their guests looked in much better health already.

Alzeer cut an impressive figure, taller even than many of the gryphons of his flock. Now that the guests had taken a chance to bathe and eat, the effect was only amplified. The male simply appeared as a leader should have, much, Storm thought, like himself. The Amasii Rex glanced up from his meal with a nod.

“She did, which indicated she had been sold and moved about two weeks before we arrived… I knew I should have mounted the attack sooner, but-"

Storm waved his wing dismissively and helped himself to a swill of honey mead.

“If you had attacked sooner, you might have met their main force instead of merely the skeleton garrison you did. All things in their own time. I am certain you will see her again. If she has been sold, then she can be found and purchased."

“And mistreated in the meanwhile…" Alzeer growled, accepting but unhappy with the mighty Gryphon's line of reason. “The vial we recovered is more pressing, though. Whatever the canines were up to below the castle, it was unnatural. Prowl foot was the one who discovered the chambers, and he has seemed… Unsettled by them ever since."

Storm nodded, but even one as disciplined as he could not help but lean forward expectantly. Alzeer's summary had been precisely that, and he had been eager to hear more of their raid in depth.

“Tell me." There was no question in his words.

Alzeer whistled to get the attention of one of a small, ash-yellow furred cheetah male nearby, and with a gesture, he approached, bowing his head in turn to both of the respective leaders.

“It's not mine to tell. Speak of what you found under the castle Prowl foot, that we might consider what to make of it."

The scout nodded, but his body language was apprehensive and not from being in the presence of either of them. He wrung his hands around his wrists a moment before speaking.

“When we rigged their weapon stores to blow, we found a tunnel hidden behind one of the racks on a hinge. We simply assumed it was a smugglers' route, perhaps one of the dogs trying to make some coin on the side. We followed it. It was not."

The cheetah continued after an encouraging nod from the lion. Storm was less carrot and more stick.

“Go on. What did you find?"

“Monsters, or at least the bodies of them. Gryphons as well that had been killed and carved open, pinned out like they were studying them. But it weren't those that scarred us. It was…" Prowl foot hesitated but, looking up into Storm's beak, thought better of the delay.

“Cubs, but they were… Wrong. The bones were all wrong, the bodies all twisted and stretched and squashed. There was rows of them along the entire length of the chamber across one wall. But as they got further back, the bodies got a little bigger, a little less twisted. The last one before they stopped must have been eight feet, all tall and bulk like a dire wolf, but with a cat's tail and fangs. We were running out of time, so I grabbed one of the bottles of this stuff-" He motioned to the vial that was resting by Storm's thigh on the log.

“And we got the hell out. It looked like the place had been abandoned for a while, or at least since the alarms had been raised. There looked like there were places where other things and books should have been, but all the shelves and tables had been emptied. Whatever they were doing, I reckon they thought they were done…"

At the conclusion of his report, Alzeer sent the boy away and turned back to Storm. The phrase 'ruffled feathers' came to mind, but externally, the gryphon made a deliberate show of having no outward reaction to the disturbing report.

“And you believe this… vial? Has something to do with why the canines have pursued you thus far?"

“Well, that and the small matter of having sunk half their castle into a lake…" He added with a nonchalant shrug.

Storm gave a deep, thoughtful hum and ripped another morsel of meat free from the bone, contemplating it in silence.

There was far, far more going on in the world in these times than at any other he could recall, and events seemed fated to drag the flocks from their homes to be engaged with them lest they perish under the seemingly numberless flags of the canines. The situation seemed grave by all accounts he had heard. While they might have been warring with the goal of eradicating the feline race from the face of the earth, they also had no qualms about subjugating the other species their armies found to be simply in the way.

Though if that was indeed their goal…

“What would the canines benefit from studying a hybrid creature? It would seem that if they were trying to create something new, it would run contrary to their outwardly facing goal of your kind's destruction." He voiced his thoughts.

As for answers, none were forthcoming. Alzeer seemed just as stumped as he was.

After a moment, the lion spat into the dirt, snarling in frustration.

“Riddles within riddles… The whole world seems to have gone insane over the last few years. What the future holds, I cannot say..."

Storm nodded pointedly. “Just so…"

An alarm call broke the silence, a single loud, peeling cry that echoed across the plains for miles as a single, hooded figure strode into the midst of the flocks' territory, and in a heartbeat, Storm had risen from his seat, spear in hand. Alzeer, despite his exhaustion, was up as well, having grabbed a thick piece of wood from the fire, embers sizzling upon its end.

The figure raised its paws up, open palms, clearly indicating they meant no threat, but Storm had already gotten their scent before they lowered their hood. Canine. How in the hell they had gotten this far without anyone noticing was a severe concern. Evidently, he wasn't the only one to have such a thought. Several warriors took to wing, immediately starting a long and low pass along the rim of the crater, looking for any other spies who may have been waiting.

“I'm alone, I promise. We mean you and your flock, no harm! Of that, you have my word." The words were sweetly spoken but laced with the poison of deceit. Storm could hear the lies even at thirty paces and closing as he stomped his way across the clearing between nests.

The black-furred labrador reached into his oddly woven robes that almost seemed… Ragged, torn. Filled with leaves and sticks, as if he had deliberately crawled through the undergrowth to collect it all. It was the almost pristine leather armour beneath that caught the gryphon's attention.

"I come representing the Canine Coalition interests in this area of the annexed territories. Your… flock…" he hesitated momentarily at the word. "Is harbouring dangerous feline and prey species terrorists, determined to undermine our authority and upset the natural order. If you release them into our custody before sunset, there will be no further consequences, and your little tribe will be left in peace." He paused but offered no alternative either.

After a long moment, Storm spoke up, fierce eyes locking on the canine like an eagle spying a rabbit far below. He was a predator, the apex one of this entire region, unchallenged in his strength and might. And he'd spotted a mouse, intruding on his lands, who expected complete obedience from a Gryphon.

This one did not expect death. That much was obvious when the spear that had one moment ago been in Storm's outstretched hand was suddenly through the dog's chest and impaling him to the earth like a gruesome stake. He gave a muted cry of surprise that was cut short as blood filled his mouth, and he went limp.

"No." Was his single-word response. He prowled forward and pulled his spear free, letting the body slump to the ground with a muted thud. A quick wave brought a handful of his flock to dispose of the body.

"Toss him over the rim and let him fall where the canines' can see. Then double the watch. If they move a step over our border, I want every alarm raised that instant. Everybody, and I mean everybody, rests armed tonight."

He turned back to Alzeer, a fearsome snarl written across the gryphon's features. Now he was well and truly pissed.

"You wanted to know what the future holds? That is your answer."

---

There were measures in place to ensure nobody ever reached the mesa that they had nested upon. Scouts with sharp, keen eyes kept watch in all directions at all hours. Mystic wards along the borders, the same that had first alerted him to the feline's trespass, had failed to detect the canine spy's presence. Even the closest ones, once thought infallible, had simply put, failed.

He did not show it, but it shook Storm to his core. Presenting that to the high council had been a fun exercise in not merely shouting "See?! I told you so! I warned you, didn't I? But you did not listen then! How about now?"

Interesting times indeed. Troubling times. Disturbing times. The flock's omen readers were blinded by some strange convolution of what may, may not, and would be. An intersection of fates, they called it. Many paths weaved in and out, but which was the truth was unclear.

He grunted, dragging a talon along the wooden desk in his nest, staring at the eloquently hand-drawn maps of the region. Everything was a chance, but history at least had proven that the odds would favour the prepared. In this case, however, their isolationist nature in the recent past was playing strongly against them. Most of the distant charts were well out of date. From the pencilled-in corrections from Alzeer's memory, even the current placement of borders and territories was likely wrong by an order of magnitude if any of the towns and cities on these maps still existed.

Rubbing the feathers along the edge of his beak, he let a sigh out and rose. There would be many weeks of preparations to be made; that much was inevitable, but time was no longer on their side. Waiting it out wasn't an option. Outside, the sun had since set, giving way to a blanket of stars that were visible out of the mouth of his personal abode.

His nest home was large, both as was befitting and necessary for one of his stature. Still, he tried to ensure that his home was a sanctuary of tranquillity, an escape from the outside, where he could rest with whichever of his flock mates he invited back with him on a given night. Being the strongest male of the flock had its perks, after all…

It stood at a distance from the rest of the flock, yet above where he could see all that went on below from his perch. Snugly set upon the easternmost rim of the crater, it also provided tranquil views of the last rays of sunlight each day and ensured that his late nights did not begin with early mornings from first light. A trickle of water from the underground springs had found its way out of the crater walls beside his home, allowing him to carve over a time, a small river that gurgled quietly on the outside of his nest.

The rocks inside had all been worn smooth from dedicated work and the motion of years of hindpaws. An ornate display rack held a dozen different spears, each a different length and with exotic and deadly tips that curved, hooked or struck straight out like the head of an arrow, perfected and made to exacting standards for different styles of fighting. It was ironic, almost then, that the one quietly leaning by the mouth of the cave would likely accompany him when, eventually, the flock left their nests on the simple basis that it was suited for most tasks. A jack of all trades but a master of none.

To one side sat an ornate suit of armour on a display mannequin and a set of glistening body jewels, bittersweet mementoes of his sire and dame. How much of it would come to war with him, and what would be left to return to… They were questions for another night. This day had already worn heavy on his shoulders. Tomorrow, he would need to arrange a proper response to the canine aggression. Their airships had not moved, and faintly, over the distant lip of the crater, he could hear their mournful howls pierce the night. The sun would rise red tomorrow. He was certain of it.

Standing and stretching, he walked to the mouth of his nest and took a last look out on the distant purple horizon. An early night would do him well off. He doubted the chance for proper rest would find him again, but then something, or rather, someone, caught his attention first. Orange and black stripes crept up through the ferns, and a pair of narrow golden eyes realised when they had been spotted at once.

The tigress rose, her long, striped tail flicking back and forth in quick, deliberate motions. It betrayed her nervousness… or perhaps her excitement.

“And here I was, just thinking to myself that the night was growing old, but rather, it seems to be young. Tell me, how did you get past the sentry at the foot of the path to my nest?" His words spoke of threat, but his eyes and beak spoke of a quiet amusement that someone else had managed to get places they were not supposed to be within his flock. He would need to have some stern words about being observant tomorrow.

“I slipped past him with the howls and climbed up the edge of the waterfall. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't see me climbing. Were you going to invite me in?" She asked, absolutely unabashed.

The turn of events was growing more and more curious.

“Bold of you to assume I wanted company."

“I saw you looking when you first found us on the trail… We might have been on the run for two weeks, but you gryphons are part feline, too… If the boys didn't recognise that look, well…" She finished with a quiet, cheeky smile that was as alluring as the racy little silk number she'd dressed in. She must have traded for it with one of the flock.

He allowed himself an amused chuff before he stepped aside and extended a wing to guide her into his nest.

“Hmmm. The night is young indeed. What is your name, little cat?"

“Siobahn, but everyone knows me as Cloud-Stripe." She politely answered, smiling as she stepped right on past him and into his nest. Oh, she was a bold one; that much was for sure. A deep inhale from his nostrils caught her scent as she went by, rich, warm, and intermingled with the sweet lily soap from the flock's crafters. Without thinking too much about it, his head instinctively tracked her as she entered, watching her long tail swishing back and forth with her steps. The back of the dress was almost entirely open to the night air, and the prying eyes of gryphons.

She must have gotten it from one of the hens, and with the sultry, lascivious back and forth of her hips, she knew exactly what it was for…

“And you are Storm… A lot of the hens in your flock were speaking very highly of you. Nobody from my pride has seen gryphons in the wild since the storied ages." She smiled, doing a little twirl as she stopped suddenly in front of him, her chest pressing into the feathers of his abs. He stood an easy 3 feet taller than her as he was and had to take a knee to come down to her level, his eyes regarding her like a curious morsel that he might enjoy devouring.

“Well, am I real enough for your liking?"

“Taller than I imagined… But after all I've been through these last weeks and survived, I suppose not much surprises me. Wanting to come up here and at least see if all the talk was just that was a silly idea, but here I am." She stated. Storm couldn't fault the tiger. There was something to be said between near-death experiences and the body's desire to reproduce. Many of the warriors experienced it, especially during heavy storms if they had been caught out flying. Over the savannahs, the thermals could turn from friendly and homeward to gale force and throw the unprepared around like a pigeon in a hurricane in the time it took to think about it.

He himself had experienced it several times in his younger years before he had the benefit of wisdom and experience to guard him. Afterwards, he'd found the first hen to catch his eye and bred them into the floor back in his nest to work out the all-encompassing high of adrenaline that such experiences gave.

He fetched a slender-necked bottle from one of his shelves without prompting, along with a pair of glasses. Drinks were poured, and wordless, they sat on the floor and sipped at them in quiet contemplation.

“Do you mind if I…" The tiger was reaching out, her paw a bare inch from the feathers of his wing. Nodding, he extended the appendage slightly into her touch, letting her fingers brush across the broad flight feathers.

“Softer than I imagined too… I might be the first feline to actually touch a gryphon for generations. The stories used to say that Gryphons were a sort of perfect combination of the apex predators of land and sky…" She spoke softly, almost reverently, while her fingers traced up to his shoulder and along the top of his pectorals, leaving a light tingling sensation in her wake.

“Go on…" He rumbled, only half paying attention as he rolled his neck upon his shoulders, his lighter-coloured hackles momentarily ruffling up before settling once more.

“There were a few drawings of them back in my tribe… Mostly old art in the shrines. Nobody seems to know where they came from, but yet… It must have been a mating between an eagle and a lion. What else could do it? But if it was that simple, why weren't there more?" Her paws stopped as they reached the lowest part of his broad chest, resting with the delicacy of an artist's brush just above the band of his loincloth.

She licked her lips quickly, almost as if indecisive.

“I cannot say. Our own stories only teach us so much about our origins… But, as for your second question, I know a way, perhaps, that there might be at least one new Gryphlet in the flock…" A heavy paw settled just under her chin and tilted the Tigeress's head up to look at him.

He let her lead in the kiss when it happened, a stumbling, awkward, yet sweet thing. Most gryphons preferred to simply nuzzle beaks, or in some cases lock them so that their tongues could flick together. With a mammal, it was a different story, though, and he was careful not to let her soft skin accidentally hook on the end of his beak or bruise her as they explored one another.

Her rough, textured tongue polished the vivid yellow of his beak, occasionally dipping into his mouth to taste him. At the same time, her small, dexterous paws went to work, unfastening what little clothing they both still wore.

To say she was the first feline in many, many generations to engage in such activity with a gryphon would have been entirely truthful. Storm did not know for sure if the comparatively small tiger would even be able to handle him, much less if such a union could indeed result in her growing gravid. His lack of insight on these questions, however, did nothing at all to temper his enthusiasm to find out their answers.

A quiet grunt left him as her paws tried to wrap around the thick, fur-covered bulge of his sheathe, giving his hidden maleness a series of quick, jumping strokes. He shifted, allowing her better access to best serve her chosen stud, sitting back while she settled between his knees, eyes wide and kittenish with delight at what she'd found. She ogled his bulging sheath and hefty sac that was absolutely to scale with his vast frame, licking her lips like she'd discovered a fun new snack.

"Ooh, that's going to be a pawfull… Are all gryphons like this?" She asked, letting her fingers tails the underside of the soft, fuzzy fur that coated his shaft's home.

"For the most part… Some of us are more equal than others, though. You won't find a lion my size in the savannah." He rumbled, watching her work like a cat playing with a mouse.

With one paw intent on drawing his deep amethyst flesh from his sheathe, her other hand carefully weighed his hefty sac hanging just beneath. Rolling the heavy orbs across her palm pads like she was weighing them for potency, each one filled her palm like she was cradling a ripe fruit.

Storm smirked.

“I assume that those will more than satisfy your curiosity? I've heard curiosity is bad for felines, though…" He spoke with an amused rumble, his eyes fixed upon her with a look of unadulterated hunger.

“Mmm, but satisfaction brings us back." She finished the quote with a sultry purr and leaned down to nuzzle her whiskers against the thick breeder bulge, basking in his scent like she was stricken by heat.

At the first sign of his growing arousal, she pressed her lips against the emerging tip, kissing her way across its slick, precum-glistening surface for a few moments before she lowered herself entirely down onto him, the vibrations of her pleased purring only drawing more of his turgid shaft from hiding. The strain from his shaft became evident in her taut lips and her muffed squeaks as she did her best to take him into her throat.

It was a valiant effort for sure, but there was hardly a gryphon who could deepthroat him without either becoming quickly oxygen-deprived or outright passing out, let alone this much smaller feline, but she was undoubtedly spirited. Or just very optimistic about her chances. The aroma of her scent, while she worked, was intoxicating and only helped to drive the gryphon's own arousal to new heights, when a mischievous thought crossed his mind.

His head turned slightly, spying the small leather pack haphazardly set nearby where he had discarded it earlier. Stretching his wing out, he dragged it closer and fished around inside its contents for a moment before his hand closed on the vial of mysterious, faintly glowing red liquid.

Smirking inwardly, he lay one hand on top of the tigress's head, keeping her muzzle buried firmly against the fuzz of his sheathe and his cock firmly lodged in the suckling kitten's maw. That taken care of, he popped the lid of the vial and took a single, drawn-out whiff of the sweet-smelling contents, a tendril of the reddish liquid's haze sweeping into his system.

At once, the overpowering aroma struck him like a meteor.

In a split second, the tigress gagged as his prick swelled out to its full size, the deep indigo lobes of his knot pulsing in time with his jumpstarted heartbeat. The powerful combination of aphrodisiacs and virility-enhancing chemicals sent bolts of lightning along his nerves that could have rivalled his own tremendous powers, and pulling the sputtering female away and off his twitching gryphonhood, it was all he could do not to lose himself in that instant. Only her tight grip along the base of his shaft held him back from climax for those few vital moments he needed to shake to immediate effect and come back to his senses.

His eyes narrowed upon her as he restoppered the vial and rolled the tiger onto her paws and knees. Seeing the narrowed, golden eyes of a lust-driven apex predator must have excited her beyond measure. She did nothing to resist his advance, pushing her bare hips up and exposing her dripping sex for his attention with little more than a soft, needy mewl. Her tail flagged submissively up and over the curve of her heart-shaped rear.

He mounted her with a keening cry that let all who heard know what he had claimed, the massive black, feathery bulk of his body simply enveloping the striped queen underneath him. Even his wings were twitching, fanning at the air as he probed at her backside with his length, seeking her warmth out with the tip of his barbed and knotted spear.

He found her on the third stroke, his tip meeting a slit channel that he ground along, collecting her feline scent and arousal along the top of his shaft. When he thrust forward, his bared breeding rod pressed all the way to her navel, earning a debaucherous shiver of anticipation from the feline. Pulling back left a streak of precum matted fur the length and width of her forearm trailing across her belly. She reached back, and carefully gripping his cockhead behind the sensitive spines, guided him into her paradise.

Storm ransacked her garden like a barbarian hoard. The first thrust buried his gryphonic spear to the midriff, and with a startled cry of pleasure, the tigress roared out, reaching back to dig her sharp claws into his haunches, a feral snarl escaping the pinned tiger as his spines raked her passage. The instinct was as ancient as it was primal, only driving both of their lusts higher as her body readied itself for a breeding she wouldn't soon forget.

He pulled back, dragging a mess of precum and slick, feline honey with him, before he plugged straight back into her, his talons dinning into her shoulders to yank her back upon the impaling length of flesh. She gasped, being shoved roughly down into the floor, trapped by the bulk of weight above her and the massive cock spreading her body around it. A single paw wriggled back, feeling its way along the visible impression the iron-hard rod of gryphon cock left in her belly as he did his damnedest to make every last inch of it fit within her.

"Oh~ oh fuck! Again, you beast." She snapped needily, feeling the lump within her moving as he drew back again, another snarl leaving her. Her entire body seemed to tense and clench, enthusiastically attempting to hold him deep inside.

Storm obliged the little hen and rammed himself home until his knot was mashed against the tiger's wet sexlips, colliding with a messy slap that echoed through his nest. She cried out, and he felt her body tensing rapidly around him, a mess of hot, wet and sticky fem cum dripping onto the floor around his knot. His beak caressed her ear with a teasing purr of his own.

"What? Already cumming? Are the lion's back home not satisfactory enough… or perhaps you're just that easy." He chuckled darkly with lust. A sharp set of claws piercing his thighs was her only answer, along with a low, threatening growl from her chest. She began rocking herself back against him, willingly pushing herself back onto his knot, claws prying loose from his skin so she could rub at her budding clit furiously while he began to shift above her.

"Ahhh~ Just give me all you've got, and I'll take what you give." Her voice was shaking almost as much as her legs, trembling like a leaf in a gale. Even her eyes were half-lidded in a lustful daze. Briefly, Storm wondered how pretty striped little gryphlets would be from this one. There was at least one sure way to find out.

Screeching into the night, he claimed the willing little cat under him, shunting her forward across the floor with a grunt as his cock knocked the breath out of her. She gasped as his knot ground against her stretched body, teasing her with the girthy bulb.

He held deep for a few moments, slowly rolling his hips to make sure she got the whole experience of being taken by a Gryphon stud. His spear was bottomed out, spines mashed against the back of her clenching passage, each throb of precum almost immediately spilling back out of her body into a mess on the floor from the pressure. She already well and truly smelled like a hen he'd claimed, and every other member of the flock would be able to smell it on her too by morning…

If, of course, she could still walk by then.

Drawing his hips back, he pulled the spines of his Gryphon hood slowly outwards, letting them drag and catch against her skin in such a way that she was squirming and mewling like a lust-addled kitten in ecstasy by the time his tip was all that remained inside of her. There he held, waiting for the cat to gain some of her senses back, her breasts pushed into the floor, her mouth agape as she panted hotly.

He growled in her ear quietly, taking the sensitive flesh between his beak dangerously. The mere motion made her body tighten around his head all over again. He could feel her rhythmically squeezing his shaft, her body trying to milk his cock for all he had to give.

"I'm going to knot you now, hen. You're going to feel full, but I will not break you. Then, I'm going to breed you." He told her in no uncertain terms. He'd make sure there was only one possible outcome from tonight, and she would be carrying it in her gravid belly for some time after he was done seeding her fertile garden.

Her only response was to dig her claws in, both to the floor where they scraped a barely visible set of lines into the surface to join countless others from Storm's partners before and into his powerfully toned thighs, to anchor herself to her stud. She nodded wordlessly, squeezing her body deliberately around him for a long moment, and took a breath, easing her muscles and forcing them to relax.

"Okay… I… I'm ready."

He didn't need to be told twice. At once, he set into what was best described as a performance with the kind of drive only the passionate or a feral beast could muster. The messy sounds of breeding filled the room as he drove against her in bestial, rough humps that slammed his knot into her petite body like a hammer pounding an anvil.

She cried out in shock and bliss, and he felt her body warm once more around his cock as a fresh climax overtook her senses. She'd be seeing stars for a while when he was properly done with her.

Leaning down to close his beak over her shoulder, his thrusts grew rapid, and his hefty sac clenched up against the base of his sheathe as a new, life-giving load built up, edging towards his own release… but not yet.

First, he had to make that knot fit.

Each thrust made her slim, well-defined belly bulge almost lewdly, the distinct impression of gryphon cock visible through her taught fur. Those stripes wouldn't be the only ones she bore proudly once he'd ensured a healthy gryphlet was in her womb. There would be no hiding what she'd been up to from her chief, but… well, that bridge could be crossed later.

Pinning her shoulders firmly to the floor with one taloned hand between them, and the other pushing bracing himself, he bit down, earning a blissful cry of release as his sharp beak pierced her skin, leaving a breeding bite that would last well beyond tonight.

He shoved his gryphonic spear deep, grinding his almost obscene knot into her body until, at last, bit by agonisingly slow bit, she began to spread for him, stretching to accommodate the thick bulb of indigo breeding-flesh. She gave a cry as it reached its zenith, yawning her open before a messy, satisfying 'Pop' filled the nest. Storm surged forward, lodging himself entirely into the overstuffed tiger. He released her, his wings flaring out wide as he called out his triumph to the entire crater and beyond. Let them know another had been claimed by the flock. Let the gods themselves know!

His load came in pulsing waves, an almost rhythmic tensing of both his shaft and sack as throb after throb of virile gryphon seed utterly flooded her womb in quantities no male would ever fill her again. The thick shaft and knot plugging her ensured that his gift had nowhere else to go, and, her womb's defences breached, his seed went to work searching out her fertile eggs to claim as nature intended.

She groaned in bliss, reaching down to lay a paw over the limb stretching out her body, opening one fuck-dazed eye to watch as her belly slowly, throb by throb bloated like she was already early expecting. She rubbed it with a low, settled purr even as Storm leaned down, licking the ragged mark his beak had left on her shoulder to soothe her. A low, crooning purr had started up in his own breast, and carefully as he was able, he settled beside her, pulling the stuffed and content big cat against his chest, a massive, sheltering wing draped across her swelling midriff as he emptied his virility into her belly.

"Curiosity… satisfied." She murmured, tail flicking back and forth over the Gryphon's abs. One of her paws had idle settled atop her bulge in her pubic mound created by his completely swollen knot.

"Hmmmm. We usually mate several times to make sure it takes, you know?" His hips gave a gentle, if suggestive, rock against her, earned a pleasured little squeak from her, and a kittenish blush to pinken her cheeks.

"Mmm, is that so? And uh… how soon can you start to make sure it takes?" She purred in response, reaching down just a little further so she could feel his heavy testes pulsing in time with each burst of warmth in her core.

"Soon… give it a little while for this load to finish, and then I can give you the proper hen treatment."

---

Alzeer Stryker slept restlessly. Perhaps it was the level of exhaustion he felt from the days before and weeks of being on the run that seemed like they might finally be at an end… But there was something else keeping him awake, an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Eventually, he rose, buckling on his pants and sword belt, intent on seeking out the spring in the middle of the crater.

Whatever answers or relief he hoped to find was not there, but the soothing, clear waters had helped clear his head. His name was still dripping over his shoulders as he wandered back along the paths, the moonlight and a staggered few torches illuminating his way.

The nagging instinct of something amiss was still there, however, and that was a cause for concern. After many years at war constantly, he'd learned better than to second guess that nagging doubt in his mind. His instincts knew something wasn't right, even if the massive lion hadn't yet worked out the specifics of just what.

Returning to the nest home he'd been allocated for the night, he stepped inside. A flash of silver in the dark was all the warning he had. He managed to duck the assassin's strike by a whisker's width as the shadowy figure's sword chopped into the wooden frame of the archway.

---

Storm churred softly, waiting for his knot to soften so perhaps he could fit in a third round for the night before the poor Tigeress blacked out from sexual exhaustion.

The nest reeked with the combined scent of their lusts and of a heat well sated by a stud. Even now, Cloud-Stripe was momentarily passed out from her last climax. Even unconscious, her body still gripped and clenched around his breeding spear, milking him eagerly for the seed he had left.

He would give her a few minutes to recover. After all, he was in no hurry. Better to breed the hen thoroughly and properly than leave anything to chance. The poor feline looked well and truly bred though, her midriff visibly swollen with both the copious flood of gryphon cum and the outline of his still steel-hard shaft. She was purring loudly in her daze, a dopey, cattish smile on her lips.

Perhaps, he mused, some further outside contact would be good for the flock. Especially if there were others as eager to meet them as she had been.

Storm's head snapped around at once, ears suddenly perked and alert. He'd heard… something. Something that wasn't part of the ordinary background noise for a calm night, but also not a sound he had heard before. Something new, something…

He set one paw upon Cloud-Stripe's hip, and gave an experimental tug, before dragging his knot free from her still clenching body, a stream of warm cum leaking from his gaping slit and onto the floor. She murmured softly and curled in on herself, her tail reflexively coiling about her swollen middle. He took a moment to fetch a travelling cloak and drape it over her naked body before the night chill could get to her.

The embers in the fire were growing low, and from the light outside, he judged it about midnight, perhaps slightly later. His paws were quiet as he walked to the entrance, perching upon the edge of the floor, one taloned hand wrapping about the haft of his spear against the wall.

Nothing immediately took his narrowed eyes as being out of place, his golden beak shifting this way and that as he scanned the flock's nest from his vantage point. He closed his eyes a moment, listening with his sharp hearing.

Crickets quietly chirped in the dark. A slight breeze rustled the ferns and leaves around his nest. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. But there was something wrong. He could sense it.

Fetching his loincloth and spear, he padded, crouched and stealthy through the bushes, just off the path that led back to his nest.

Whatever was going on reeked of the unnatural. He felt in his chest that he should have sounded an alarm call despite seeing no evidence of why he should. Powerful though he was and respected as the flock's leader, even he would not be beyond a week of mocking jabs and teasing for raising a false alarm without reason.

Then why did he feel so strongly that it was still the right thing to do? Perhaps it had been whatever canine drug he'd ingested keeping him on edge. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed a devious and alluring idea, but now his own thoughts challenged his youthful cock-brain. There was an old idiom about males, their cocks, brains, and how much blood they had to use them that sprung to mind.

No. He would check first and confirm his suspicions. But quickly as well. His gut instinct was seldom wrong, and if it was not in this case, seconds could be the difference between life and death.

He hurried down through the undergrowth, his foot claws digging into the earth for traction as he took them at what might have been a reckless speed. His wings flared out for stability.

He tossed himself wholly from the edge of the waterfall and let himself glide across the spring in the center of the crater. Chief Stryker was bedded in one of the nest homes here, a raised structure of wood and stone. He made his way towards it quickly and readied his spear as soon as he heard the scuffle from within.

Rounding the corner, he was surprised to see two sets of feline eyes glinting at him from the darkness, one green and brown, mismatched and wide with anger and alarm, the other, golden and narrowed, focused. It was this second set that was currently attempting to thrust a serpentine-bladed Kris into the former's chest.

The momentary distraction was enough for Alzeer to dig his feet into his foe's chest and kick him backwards off of him, regaining his footing quickly. The assassin gave a feline hiss from a canine muzzle, outraged that its attack had been interrupted. It lunged at the unarmed lion before it, scoring a small gash across his arm as Alzeer fended back the strike barehanded.

Before more harm could come to his guests, Storm drove in with his spear, a piercing thrust that sunk deep into the creature's hip before jolting sideways off of the bone.

It recoiled with a caterwaul of pain, turning and making a pair of quick swipes at the Gryphon.

But Storm was in the flow now, fight time, as some called it. The glorious moments of clarity in a battle where the world slowed, and each move flowed as if choreographed in a dance. The seconds ticked by, seemingly slower and slower, as the assassin drove in with his blows.

One, two, three, four-

Storm waited for the opening, and when it appeared, struck like a coiled viper. His spear knocked the first strike sideways and carried around it a vertical twirl that hit the second blow upwards with the haft of the polearm. The third motion was the spear completing its rotation, the blade now levelled at the assassin's chest. By the fourth count of the battle's tempo, he was already thrusting and driving the spear deep into his attacker's chest.

The stunned look on the not-quite-feline creature's very canine muzzle bespoke its surprise at being defeated. Sharp, cat-like teeth flashed a dumb grin of amusement. Storm gave it no such moment for contemplation, though. Twisting the haft, he heard something crack and yanked the blade back, leaving a spill of blood on the floor as it collapsed, dead.

But just as soon as the first had been dispatched, a new trio of figures were in the entryway to the nest, blocking any hope of escape with their wickedly sharp, curving blades.

At once, Storm turned, letting out a rapid-fire series of distinctly avian alarm cries, the sort of high, unmistakable call that could rouse the dead. The attackers cringed but pressed on anyway, though their eyes showed fear as the alarm call was picked up by more and more of the flock, and they quickly rose to alertness. Distantly, a wailing air siren upon the crater rim had begun to spool, the sort only used in a genuine, dire emergency. Storm had hoped they might. Such an alarm call had not been heard in his memory.

"They're both here! Recall the others!" One of the assassins hissed and yanked down his mask, letting out a screeching jungle cat roar from its distinctly wolfish muzzle. Then he turned his narrowed, feline golden eyes upon the Gryphon and the Lion. The glare was full of loathing, as was the sharp, cat-fang-filled muzzle. The assassin's ears were those of a wolf, its feet soft and feline, with that distinct shape to them. At yet, its tail was that of a lupine, and its build was that of a dire wolf, broad and stocky. Standing at full height, he came level with Alzeer.

Storm snarled as the assassins stepped into the moon's light, revealing its bizarre, deadly combination of feline and canine aspects.

"What are you?"

The assassin merely grinned, pulling his mask back up to cover that muzzle that simply seemed wrong. Unnatural. There was some kind of devilry at work.

"Something new." That was his only response, the Kris in the Assassin's outstretched paw swinging at the Gryphon while his compatriots circled around to flank him and Alzeer.

Blades met. Alzeer had retrieved his own broadsword from where it had been knocked and instinctively put his back to the Gryphon's. Together, they fended off back-to-back blows, the clashing of blades and spears ringing out in the confines of the nest.

One! Two! Three! Attack!

Storm's lunge pierced the breast of one of his attackers, and a strike from the butt of his spear drove another back beyond the range of his foe's sword. Alzeer feigned a downward thrust at one of the remaining foes, only to launch himself tooth and claw into his attacker the second his sword lowered from its guard to deflect the attack.

Storm wasn't watching, but he certainly heard a loud feline snarling along with a satisfying crunch of something breaking behind him.

He fended off blows with the grace of an artist, slowly pushing his opponents back towards the entrance of the structure. In the background, the alarm calls wailed, and the sound of activity was growing.

“We must egress! Fall back!" One of his attackers hissed to the other, and with a snarl, they both came at the gryphon hard, driving him back a few steps before they spun and dashed at a full sprint into the darkness. One turned, and at the last moment, drew something from his cloak, and pelted it in an overhand throw at Storm.

The gryphon laughed, sidestepping lazily to avoid it as the object soared past him.

“Ha! Cowards!"

Storm may not have recognised the danger right away besides that it was some kind of throwing weapon. Alzeer, on the other hand, having been through the canine armouries and seeing their new toys deployed firsthand, recognised it in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he tackled the gryphon's muscled legs to drive him outside into the grass, just below the lip of the nest and shoved his own mane hard into the dirt.

A second later, the entire nest exploded in flames behind him with a roar of sucking air, vaporising the guest nest and everything inside of it in seconds as the superheated alchemist's fire rolled and expanded to fill every nook and cranny of the room before pressure blasted it outwards in a gout of flame like an enraged dragon had been within.

Storm was quick back to his feet, looking at the mass of destruction behind him. Already, parts of the roof had begun to collapse as the flames ate away their supporting structure. He raised a wing, shielding himself from the intense heat as Alzeer staggered over.

“What sorcery is this?"

“Something they've been cooking up. You haven't been on the frontlines when they field-test such things. But if they throw something at you and it misses…" The massive lion sat down heavily in the grass, licking with a pained scowl at one of the many new cuts and scrapes he'd picked up.

Several warriors of the flock approached, finally roused enough to mount a response. Strom nodded in greeting to them, watching the flames as they ate up what was left of the room's contents.

“Fetch water to put this out before it spreads, and have patrols sweep every nest, tree and hiding spot there is. If there are more of them, I want them found." He waved them off quickly. That was the role of a chief in battle. Designate goals for his underlings to execute as best they saw fit. Already, he could see the more experienced of his flock beginning to assign tasks to those who hadn't seen the reality of battles, ensuring they did not stand and gawk overlong.

One of their healers had already moved over and was helping Alzeer dress the worst of his wounds. The flames reflected off the other chieftain's mismatched eyes, deep in contemplation.

“I have to fetch my armour. I want to convene a war council after this. Will you accompany me back to my nest?" He asked of Alzeer. The old lion waved him off, a tired growl passing his blood-stained muzzle.

“I'll catch up shortly… I know where it is."

Storm nodded and proceeded quickly up the hill. Something else had nagged in the back of his mind, too, and each step he took back towards his own private nest only carried his concern further. There were tracks here, his and the Tigeress's, but also a set that was neither canine nor feline.

The wind had begun to pick up, minging with the altering pitches of the alarms upon the rim of the crater. Overhead, the stars were being blanketed from sight by a rolling thunderhead from the east, the distant grumbling of thunder only adding another element to the rhythm of the night.

He reached the darkened mouth of his nest, the coals of the fire since extinguished. The only thing that glowed in the nest at all was the assassin's eyes, holding a blade to the throat of the panicked-looking naked tigress as they both watched Storm approach, one with hope, the other with loathing.

Something crunched underfoot as he came closer. Debris had been scattered around his nest, and several of his spears had been knocked from their shelves. His armour's stand had been toppled. There had clearly been a scuffle, as evidenced by a long gash on Cloud-Stripe's forearm as she was held at the assassin's mercy.

“Your kitten made quite the mess. I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of making my own contribution. Once she'd had the last of that vial, well… She didn't struggle too much." The hybrid beast chuckled darkly. Even in the dim light, Storm could hear that wet, rasping mix of a feline purr and a canine growl. Cloud-Stripe bore new bruises on her thighs and arms, and her eyes were unfocused and panicked. The distinct musk of another male clung heavily in the air, and on a bestial, primal level, it made Storm's blood boil.

“What do you want?" The massive gryphon's frame blocked the entire archway leading into his nest, and his wings flared out dangerously.

“Well, if it wasn't already obvious, I'm not inclined to share… You'll all find out soon enough. Drop the spear and stand aside." A slight wiggle of his blade against the Tiger's throat drew a pained, worried whimper from the feline.

Storm snarled and made a low huff through his nares. All the same, his spear clattered to the ground noisily as he folded his black wings behind his back. Slowly, he circled to the side, his fists clenched.

"You won't get away from this place." Once again, the gryphon made a statement. There was no question involved. The bizarre hybrid beast had already signed its own death warrant. If it cared, it didn't show. It just grinned that toothy, feline, fang-filled grin through its lupine muzzle.

"Perhaps not, but our job here is done… this one was merely a bonus." He shrugged, footwork impeccably timed to Storm's own, a pair of predators circling each other, waiting for an opening. Who would break first, though… The seconds ticked by almost painfully.

One, two, three, four, five…

Even unarmed, Storm was still formidable, as clearly the hybrid was aware, sizing up his opponent. The Kris in his paw twisted, digging in against Cloud-Stripes throat. Storm gave ground for just a moment, deliberately misstepping so that they were out of sync.

...eight, nine, ten, eleven...

A peel of thunder rumbled from outside, and briefly, the room was illuminated by a bolt of lightning. Shadows leapt from everywhere, highlighting the starkly different pair and the hostage separating them.

...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…

Their standoff carried on. Now they were opposite where they had begun, Storm's back to the interior, his foe nearest the opening to his nest.

"Let the cat go." The gryphon rumbled, his voice as deep as the rumble of the storm clouds overhead.

"If you insist."

The hybrid moved damned fast, far faster than Storm expected, but he was rapid to recover. Cloud-Stripe was shoved towards him, and instinctively, the Gryphon grabbed her, protective instincts momentarily overriding tactical judgement as the Hybrid followed in her wake, blade raised.

He managed to shove the ragged-looking feline out of harm's way and moved himself in the opposite direction as the blade came whistling down. It shaved a few feathers, missing flesh by millimetres.

Claws and talons bared, and he attacked, parrying the follow-up strike from the sword by clenching his talons about the hybrid's muscled arm like a vice.

Teeth, of all the crude and underhanded attacks, sank into his arm as the Hybrid rolled backwards, pulling Storm over his attacker before launching the gryphon over himself entirely. The gryphon roared in fury. Something crashed beneath the nine-foot Chieftain as he landed, rolling with the impact back to his feet as the Hybrid came in for another attack.

Storm had himself taught many of the younger warriors in the flock the art of grappling and fighting with a larger opponent, and the hybrid utilised many of the same lessons in his technique.

They fought like a pair of beasts, trading blow for blow. Storm felt the keen edge of the assassin's blade bite shallow more than once when a voice rang out after a booming report of thunder overhead.

"Storm!"

Cloud-Stripe was up, and though injured, she had managed to drag herself over to the collapsed rack of spears. She hurled one with an overhand throw between himself and the assassin, and he snatched it from the air with practised grace, spinning with its momentum to bring the broad-headed blade into his opponent's side like a flanged mace strike.

The hybrid let out a yelp of pain and leapt back, trailing blood from the wound in its side where the spearhead had shorn clean through the leather and embedded itself three fingers deep between ribs. It hissed furiously at him, narrow golden eyes glaring daggers. Storm flourished the spear dangerously, his own eyes venomous.

Then, it was his turn to go on the attack.

His foe, realising the tipping favour of the fight, instead opted to retreat, kicking over a small table between them and fleeing out of the nest into the night.

Storm would have none of it. Adjusting his grip on the weapon, he lifted it as the air around him grew charged, static zaps leaping between his feathers and fur and into the steel handle of the spear. His eyes glazed over in a white glow as current now arced visibly across his figure, the wind rapidly picking up outside into a howling roar of natural fury.

The assassin had the nerve to attack his home. His nest. And lay claim to one of his hens. The hybrid was dead the second Storm arrived. His pulse had merely yet to stop.

Storm corrected this oversight and rid him of the temporary condition of mortal life.

Thunder boomed overhead, loud and close enough to shake the foundations of the nest. Cloud-Stripe covered her ears and cowered.

The spear left Storm's talons, flying straight and true as an arrow from a ballista, and embedded itself through the assassin's spine, causing him to topple forwards and come to a halt as three feet of jutting haft arrested his fall. Then the sky lit in a blinding flash and simply exploded the hybrid as several million volts of lighting came down upon the spear like the gods themself had drawn all the elemental fury of nature onto the one hapless assassin who had gone and pissed off the wrong Gryphon.

The earth shook with the crack of lightning and then calmed, all returning to stillness.

An avian cry of victory broke the silence, ringing out for all the savannah to hear.

---

Alzeer dragged himself up the side of the crater towards Chief Storm's nest, leaning heavily on a stick that acted as an improvised crutch. The lightning had been as sudden as it was conspicuous and no doubt called forth by some supernatural sorcery.

There had been no sign of further attackers for at least thirty minutes at this point, and the grisly task had begun of tallying their losses and licking their wounds. The loud sirens had since fallen quiet, but not before hundreds of gryphons had finished scouring the immediate area for any sign of lingering threats.

Of his own, one more had fallen, protecting a group of young gryphlets along with a black feathered gryphon, and another of his raiding band was still unaccounted for.

From what he understood, several others would be among a complete list of casualties. He'd overheard talk that several sentries had been found killed at their posts. More still of their foes had fallen, but they had made efforts to dispose of the bodies with their accursed alchemist firebombs. Several of the configurations still raged around the Gryphons' village. Attempts to extinguish the substance with water had only caused it to spread, and it had been Alzeer who had directed them to use earth. Even so, shovelling sand and gravel was far slower than retrieving water.

And now, he was off to find out what the hell had happened to their chief because none of the others had been willing to interrupt Storm at such a time if he were busy.

"You can go, just… use tact. You're his guests, after all." The sentry at the base of the path had warned him with a soft chuckle before giving the old lion the road, shaking his head.

Alzeer didn't understand and had pushed ahead, much to the sentry's amusement.

The place where lightning had struck was obvious: a spear lodged in the middle of the pathway, along with a still-smoking black patch on the earth with chunks of charred… something, and exploded, ruined leather armor.

A sound caught his attention, something from deeper beyond the archway of the cavern. A soft grunting and-

Oh…

The massive, black, feral form of Chief Storm was mounted over a small mewling feline bearing stripes, his hips an animalistic blur as he claimed the already swollen tigress for what clearly wasn't the first time since the battle. Her sounds of bliss filled the chief's nest, as did the wet smacks of the gryphon's heavy sack slapping against her thighs while the beast tried to pound his swollen, amethyst knot into the too-small feline.

Alzeer turned away with a quiet shake of his head. He would… come back later. At least that accounted for Cloud-Stripe's whereabouts.

Let them enjoy the moment for what it was. He doubted there would be many more like it on the path that lay ahead for both of their species…

Behind him, a screech of triumph filled the crater as Storm, well… He did what the Chiefs did best in their downtime.

Let him enjoy the moment, he told himself again as he wandered back down the path. Alzeer had just realised who the young gryphon warrior who had fallen beside one of his own resembled.

---

In peace, it is said that sons lay their fathers to rest. In war, the roles are reversed.

A father's grief is painful to behold. It is an uncovered wound, raw and agonizing, and obvious to all who witness it. They bear it with necessity, a burden none wished for nor would wish upon another. Stoic faces hide trembling mouths, and fierce eyes and determination and duty are all that hold back tears from flowing freely. Regardless, they flow all the same. It is too much to bear, and yet they bear it.

All things considered, a half dozen slain for an equal amount of their foes, at least as best could be told, was giving as good as they got.

But the assassins had no families to leave behind. No grieving widows, no sorrowful parents, no crestfallen siblings. Not even bodies, so thoroughly scorched by the flames that even their bones were but ash.

Alzeer had already given their customary death rites to Greygarn and added another scar to his arm. They numbered eight now. He prayed to whatever gods would listen that they would be the last spirits he would send off.

The war council had been postponed once Storm had learned what ill fortune had befallen him. The young warriors had his father's features. The hen that had mothered him knelt silently, mourning for the loss of her child while Storm stood and delivered his final rights.

Markings had been painted upon his feathers, designating his place. Storm himself had applied his own, the same insignia that adorned his shoulder now proudly marking his fallen son. The flock surrounded the family as one.

Alzeer's group had moved away, the loss filling the air enough for a lifetime. Stryker had seen more than his own share of it. They sang quietly in gryphonic, chanting, mourning, grieving. Even from far away on the side of the crater, the sorrow-filled song was as clear as… well, birdsong.

Storm led a battle cry that shook the heavens themselves, before yelling over the silence that followed, shouting for all to hear his offspring's might and achievements, his duty and honour, a final call, as it were. Alzeer didn't recognise any of it, for it was not made for his ears to hear. Whatever Gods there were, though, Storm's fury and loss ensured they listened as he called to the heavens.

Only then, after the rituals were completed, did the elder Gryphon allow himself to weep openly, as only a father can for his son.

Alzeer turned away. It was too much to watch.

"What now, chief?" A panther, scratching patterns in the dirt of the hillside, spoke up from nearby.

"We wait… There will be formalities later, but for now, we wait… Give them time to grieve and refocus." Alzeer sighed, watching the red sun as it rose in the east. It was an ill sign.

"They can't possibly remain neutral after this, can they?" His subordinate cried in dismay, throwing his hand up.

"They can and very well might. It isn't their war. Had the canines just attacked one tribe, would the Goldclaws have cared? The Savahns? The Stryker's even?" Alzeer countered, naming off the tribes of once foes to his own. War had a funny way of shifting alliances.

"Besides… We were the ones who led the canines here. Why would they give credence to someone who brought death on their heels into their home?"

The battle was over, and Alzeer was grateful for that. But the war council meeting might decide the fate of the conflict. He needed to prepare himself, but first, he had another small matter to attend to.

---

The pool was still save for the gentle lapping of the stream that flowed into it from the side of the crater. The sea of remembrance. That was their name for it. Not much of a sea, considering. He had seen the actual ocean, stretching waters that ran to the ends of the known world, perhaps further.

Sitting on its shore, he brooded, his thoughts wandering to dark, dangerous places. The spear trapped in his talons trembled like a leaf still, the tip wavering more than even a first-day trainee. It was a poor shape for the rest of his flock to see their Chieftain in, and so he had retreated, isolating himself to collect his emotions and racing thoughts at the most serene spot he could think of.

It hadn't helped. Nothing had helped. Of course, he had sired many gryphlets among the flock, and perhaps the loss of one was to be mourned, but at least he had others, right?

He cursed loudly in his own tongue, a screeching string of explosive language that ended with him pelting a stone from the shore as hard as he could into the waters. It entered the still lake with an anti-climactic plonk, and he fell back to his knees, breathing hard as another wave of grief hit him, more substantial than even a hammer blow to the chest. It left him breathless and tense, unable to even make a wheeze until it passed. He fell back onto the shore, wings sprawled out and eyes unfocused, watching the clouds above.

The ritual paint markings on his body had faded and been smeared away by the water and sand and his own talons as he tried to come to terms with the loss he had endured.

"It doesn't get easier. People say it does, but it doesn't. You learn to live with it like an amputee lives without a part of themself. You may get better, and people will say you seem better, but nothing has changed. You simply learn to live with the loss… It was a beautiful ceremony. Truly, I grieve for your loss."

Storm's head whipped around at the interruption despite his instructions to be left alone. Alzeer stood nearby at the water's edge, quietly watching him.

What did those feline eyes see in him now, he wondered? A broken, grief-stricken chief, brought low? A predator, reduced to little more than a weak lump of flesh, fur and feathers?

He saw no such condemnation in the lion's eyes, though. Pity, perhaps, but something else as well, a particular aspect of himself. Storm snorted in exasperation as he recognised it from looking at his own reflection for hours on end now.

"You have lost as well." As these things so often were with him, there was no question to it, just a blunt statement. It was an acknowledgement of fact, of how things were.

Alzeer nodded slowly, the dark lion stepping over before he sat down on the shore beside the mighty black Gryphon.

"Yes. My wife and son. The wife, before the war, her time in life ended. The son, after, during the canine's attack on my home."

"Did he die well?" Storm asked, returning his gaze to the drifting clouds above.

"With a canine sword in his throat, I do not suspect so. But when we found him, he had slain tenfold his own number and died among a ring of them. Perhaps in that regard, yes… But he is gone, as is my daughter, and each drop of canine blood I draw brings that debt no closer to being settled."

"Nor is mine… the council has no stomach for war. We've been at peace for far too long, and they still pale at the memory of the last major conflict we fought. Now that war is on our door, I know already what their response will be. It is not our fight. You led the dogs here. We have no quarrel with them. We cannot afford it…" He snarled the words out, sitting up so he could spit in disgust as he looked out across the 'sea'.

Alzeer said nothing and simply gazed out across the water with him.

"We cannot afford to sit on the sidelines as the world marches on. And the canines… They cannot afford the blood toll I intend to place upon them. My son may have been lost, but I am still here, in no small part, because of you, Alzeer. Be with me at the council when it assembles. I want you to tell all you have seen. Let the rest of the council hear firsthand what complacency brought your kind."

---

The cat's presence was not a welcome one. For nearly an hour now, Storm had sat by, patiently waiting while the others of the council had risen and taken their turn to remind him what an affront it was to have an outsider here, an outsider who many placed the blame for the attack squarely upon!

"...and so we cannot, cannot allow ourselves to become entangled in the conflicts of the rest of the species! We have always done well enough on our own, and will continue to do so!" There were muted voices, both of agreement and discontent, from the arranged flock members.

The hallowed halls of the council chamber rarely saw such a large gathering at once, but this was important enough to force their attendance. Not a soul had slept through last night soundly. Many of them had been awake since the attack, and it showed in the darkness around their eyes.

"Chief Storm. Your arguments, if you please." One of the dark-feathered elders nodded respectfully to the chief. His oversized seat at the middle position of the curved, raised table groaned as Storm stood, flexing his shoulders and wings.

"What points I can make for this conflict are already known. The Canine Coalition, as it is known, are at our borders. They have taken all from the feline lands to the seas. Their ambitions are bare and on display, as is their goal for this conflict. They wish to wipe out the felines. Entirely. There is no ambiguity in that statement. Entirely. A common ancestry is evident between our kind and theirs, and I have no doubt in my mind this contributed to their hasty decision to strike at us and our guests-" He clenched fist thumped on the tabletop, talons flexing out to add fresh scratch marks into the wood as a voice interrupted.

"Guests who should have been dealt with at the border, who were only permitted to stay on your sayso! Cast them out, I say. Let the canines do with them as they will! They are not the flock, nor should we lay our necks out for the axeman of their war."

"If they had succeeded in persecuting their own fight, they would not have needed to give up their homes and flee from a foe."

"It will be your war soon enough, regardless of whether you help us or not." Alzeer called back from the corner he had been allocated, the side seat of an observer, to be seen and not heard, preferably. There came a quick chorus of overlapping voices shouting back and forth in Gryphonic.

"Enough! Chief Stryker saved my life, and one of his warriors fell beside my son, protecting members of the flock! I have invited-"

"He is not part of this council, nor should he speak. His voice should not be acknowledged! He should not even be here!"

Storm's glare could have melted ice, and it was the firmness of his gaze that brought silence to the chamber. The few gryphons who had risen from their seats slowly sat back down. Storm stepped forward, out into the lowered dias of stone in the centre of the ring of the highest members of the flock.

"Alzeer. Step forward." Not for a second did he look at the solitary lion among them, though he heard the other chieftain's footsteps as he approached. Storm kept his eyes on the rest of the flock, roaming from member to member, eyeing them with the sort of intensity that told them to sit down and stay quiet.

From his waist, he drew a small knife, almost comical for the nine-foot gryphon. Without hesitation, he ran the blade over his opposite palm, scoring into the rough, calloused flesh deep enough to draw blood. He clenched his fish a few times to draw a good bead of it upon his talons. Reaching out, he drew a line across Alzeer's forehead, whispering.

" If you want to make any progress with the elders, do as I have done, and then repeat after me."

Alzeer nodded, and taking the offered knife, scored his own palm, drawing a matching line across Storm's brow in turn. The pair then gripped their injured hands together, and resting his brow against Alzeer's own, Storm began to chant in Gryphonic, speaking slowly and clearly so that all present could hear and so that the feline unfamiliar with Gryphons' way of speaking could follow along. Once the words were intoned, a silence fell across the chamber. The bonding ritual was complete. Storm raised his head and slowly ran his eyes across each member of the war council in turn.

"There. It is done. Alzeer risked his life to protect my own, and the actions of his warriors have been in keeping with the highest standards of our own. I name him brother and let all present witness it. He may be featherless, but his flock has been attacked unprovoked by the canines. Who here will speak against our assistance in resolving this problem? Who here will speak against vengeance for our fallen?" His eyes turned cold once more as he spoke, turning towards the groups most vocally speaking against them becoming entangled in this war.

"Who among you will deny vengeance for my son?" He snarled the words with fury. It was no question. It was a direct challenge. A dare. Let any one of them come forward and challenge his right to avenge his child.

No objections were forthcoming. Silence reigned. Storm grinned. He had perhaps been hoping for just a bit more pushback, but as one, they quickly fell into step. Honor now demanded their participation. Even the most stubborn or resistant could not deny it now that the blood bond had been made. For better or worse, the fate of their two species was now intertwined.

---

Once the declaration was made, the peaceful, quiet society that the feline raiders had sought refuge with began to show its teeth. Like a slumbering giant disturbed from its long rest, the very flock of gryphons that had welcomed them with guarded hospitality prepared almost eagerly, yet somberly, for what was to come. It was a growing storm on the horizon. A thunderhead barely emerged, but looming with threat and menace as it gathered momentum. It carried with it the promise of rain, of new life and clear skies when it passed, but when it arrived, it would bear down on the land with fury and blood and talons.

No lasting change ever came without an equally dramatic action to spur it. Storm merely hoped that he had made the right choices for his people, for the good of them all. Their scouts had taken wing with the first light of the sun. Though Gryphons had not been seen outside their own borders for many a long season, they maintained a vast information network that would need to be brought to readiness as well, and as for their most ancient foes of all… How they would react to such a sudden movement in such force…

Well, the Avian strongholds above the Dragon clan territories still remembered their old oaths and loyalties. Their eyes and ears had expanded in the gryphon's absence from the world stage, and those connections would serve as an invaluable resource.

Alzeer had at least helped with getting the chief's nest in order. It seemed as one issue was settled, twelve more rose to take its place. Being the chief of his tribe had its perks, but it came with twice as many duties and responsibilities, and one of those was presenting an example for the flock he led.

They had spent most of the early afternoon cleaning the debris and collecting scattered belongings from the floor. Storm could have managed to right the spears and his sire's set of armour by himself, but if the new bond between their species was to hold, so too was it essential that it be shown as something worthy.

Truthfully, he hadn't worn the old set of plates in what was likely years. It was undoubtedly crafted by a master of the forge, almost artisan in nature, as much a testament to workmanship as it was to function. It could only have been described as beautiful in the way that a perfectly honed spear was. Elegant and deadly in purpose.

Storm had allowed his new blood brother to help him don the pauldrons and silver, razor-edged talon covers as a gesture of good faith. The armour was befitting of his station and glimmered in the sunlight from the mouth of his nest. When he moved, it was silent as water over stone. Any who looked upon him would see the majesty and stature of a gryphon in his prime, and his enemies would see him and tremble at his power and might.

Collecting his spear, with its tip glowing a faint mystical green between the barbs of its point, he looked ever more the leader his people would need in the coming days.

“It suits you. I wouldn't want to fight a gryphon, especially in full plate." Alzeer chuckled with an appraising nod towards Storm. The Amasii Rex's thick tail flicked once as he turned his gaze outward again, looking to the distant horizon contemplatively.

Storm knew well the thoughts that must have been plaguing the old lion. How much more would it cost? How many lives, how many partners, friends, lovers and children? How many friendly voices would never grace them with their song again? And when it was done, would it be enough? Could a proper peace be born of vengeance? They were the doubts of a leader, and Alzeer hid them well, as a leader had to.

“If we are fortunate, the scars on your chest and paw will be the only feline blood spilt by Gryphon as long as either of us draws breath. But fortune favours the prepared, and it is our burden now to ensure the odds of that outcome are as stacked as we can. My flock knows what needs to be done and will not shy away from their duty. What of yours, though? Where shall you take them?"

“Back North, to the remaining feline territories and the front lines. What we discovered and have seen here needs to be told if they haven't found out the hard way." Alzeer nodded towards the horizon and the looming canine airship that had slowly begun lifting off on Gryphon's borders.

It would not get far. Storm had already dispatched his fastest flyers to deal with it.

“Then may you journey safely and reach your people in time. Until then, I will send two of my tribe ahead of you to ensure your path is clear and to liaise with your kin. If we are to enter this war, then it shall be done right." The Gryphon nodded and extended his paw to Alzeer.

The old lion shook it firmly, and nodded his thanks, waving for his people to gather, lest they lose more of the rising sunlight.

This had not been the outcome he had foreseen when they had struck out on this journey, but perhaps the simple happenings of chance here would change the outcome of things much, much larger than Alzeer could imagine.

And perhaps yet there was hope that he would find his daughter, alive and well…