Highwater and Glass

The White Stag, Chapter 1 - Oran

Oran found days and nights spent in the Firgladen Forest to be transformative. To bathe in a spring, to collect fresh currants and raspberries, to sleep beneath the stars; it all spoke to his often unrealized desire to reconnect with nature. Too much importance was placed upon the man-made comforts of urban life. He could clean himself with soap and a rag in a tub readied by maids, but he would not feel as clean and refreshed as he did in the company of moss and timber. It was no wonder to him why wyrd women such as Miranna chose a life of seclusion deep within the woods.

He had dreamt of her since Horus's passing. Her words drifted into him like fog rolling over distant hills, those she had spoken before he battled his rival for the first time.

"Highwater, Morningshire," She had said. "Your destinies are intertwined. I can see them now through the smoke of fire and lightning, a red falcon, a white stag. This doesn't end here."

But the melancholy echoes of his dreams never lingered long into the day. He would awaken beside the woman who had become his best friend and they would proceed to do what they had always done; make the best of a dreadful situation.

They never found the king's horses after they had been scared off by bolts of fire. Thus escorting the rescued Princess Annette back to The Blue Keep in Port Shorishal would take nearly three times as long. Annette never spoke of her gratitude. She preferred to be miserable and argumentative in their company. More often, she followed behind them in silence, choosing not to engage in conversation or spirited debate, even when prompted.

"What manner of beast do you think the MageLord's pet was?" asked Eloise one afternoon.

They were crossing a creek, balancing on a narrow collection of driftwood that had formed a makeshift bridge. Oran recalled the beast in question was called Rivyr, a large gray lion with black wings.

"I read about something like it once," Eloise continued. "Do you think it was a griffon?"

Oran stifled a laugh.

"No! Griffons share characteristics with eagles. The beast clearly had the head and body of a lion."

"But, it had the wings of an eagle. Part lion, part eagle, it was a griffon."

Oran took her hand and helped her onto the bank. Her shoulder and thigh were still bandaged from her battle days prior. The wounds were healing well, but she was notably less nimble. He sympathized with her. Still, she was wrong and it was fun push to her buttons.

"I respectfully disagree," he said. "If it had an eagle's head or even talons, then we'd be in griffon territory. Adding wings simply gives you a winged lion."

"So what, A Pega-lion? Since when is that a thing?"

"I don't know. I study the arcane and alchemy. My knowledge of obscure zoology is a bit thin."

"So it could have been a griffon."

"It was not a griffon."

Eloise sighed and looked back to Annette. She was holding her ruined shoes while struggling to maintain her balance.

"What do you think, Princess? Was it a Griffon or a Pega-lion?"

Princess Annette shot her a nasty look.

"I do not wish to engage in pointless conversation with peasants," she spat.

"Lady Eloise and I have standing," Oran assured her.

"Lady Eloise? Please. To call such a plodding brute a lady is utterly laughable," she stepped onto the bank and replaced her shoes, bracing herself on Oran's shoulder. "Come to think of it, Oran, you're far more ladylike than Eloise. Perhaps you could guard the bath house. I'm nearly certain tales of your castration are true."