Page 36 of Gryphon in Light

“Hmm. He doesn’t have a lesson this morning, but I should go watch him anyway.” The Adept’s eyes took on a look of anticipation. “I should record some aura-paper stains as we go, come to think of it. There could be a pattern to them. It’s been so long since I last took any, I just forgot. I wish that simply letting him follow instinct was less dangerous, because with time I believe he might work out a better answer than either Treyvan or I could. I had no idea that gryphons had such a visceral understanding of the art. It makes for some fascinating differences between how they handle power and how humans do. We’re able to use magic, but we don’t have any specialized organs for it. Gryphons, though, it’s part of them. Blood and body, in ways I doubt we’ll ever completely relate to, because our magic is forever outside us.”

“Well, you know,” the kestra’chern said, as an idea came to him, “Why don’t you commandeer the time of one of the other gryphons, and use your mage-sight on them, in order to compare it to Kel later? You’ll get a much better idea of how those channels and mysterious organs are supposed to work by direct observation than by listening to Nightwind try to explain it all in words.”

“That—is an excellent idea.” Firesong’s eyes brightened further, and Silverfox smiled at him.

“Shoo,” Silverfox said, making a motion with both hands to send him on his way. “Do that. Then, if you haven’t gotten yourself a headache, go observe Kel. He’ll complain about being under observation all the time, and when he does, just tell him what you told me. It sounds flattering.”

“That’s because it is flattering, at least in a way. I can’t believe I never noticed it.” Firesong got up to leave, shaking his head at his own obtuseness. “And I can’t believe we didn’t ask one of the others to stand by as an example of a healthy gryphon while we were working on him.”

“You had a lot of other things to worry about at the time,” his partner pointed out. “Now you don’t. And since you’ll be with him, I won’t need to send someone to remind you to eat, because his hertasi will stuff both of you given half a chance.”

Firesong actually chuckled and whisked out of the room, clearly eager to get back to his current most-favorite subject.

It’s a good thing that gryphons are very pragmatic; a human might well take offense at being “studied.” Kel just wants results that will end in him being more or less “normal” again, whatever that is for a gryphon.

Silverfox turned his attention back to his own lists. As a kestra’chern, he did a certain amount of Healing himself, and he was fairly certain that Nightwind, who was the closest thing to a Healer they were probably going to get on this trip, would not anticipate human needs until they cropped up. Not to say that she wasn’t an expert human anatomist before her trondi’irn pursuits. Nightwind had had a knack for essential lifesaving since childhood, even before studying anatomy and chemistry for her transition to female, and she was once a Silver Gryphon field medic. Good thing too, being married to Snowfire. He could need intensive care at any moment.

So Silverfox was using his own expertise to stock their journey’s medicinal herbs, on the grounds that when there was a choice between magical or Gift Healing and herbs for the same result, it was wiser to use herbs. They took a little longer, but better to save the Healer’s energy for emergencies when there was no time for concocting remedies. Come to think of it, it was possible there could be magical “dead areas” on the journey, and every bit of power could be vital to escape.

And bless that long-ago Healer Bear who came up with the idea of the standard kits for Valdemaran herb Healers. All he’d had to do was request one be sent with the latest Valdemaran personnel, and he got one. A big one. A really big one. Wardrobe-sized—the one sized for a village that was unlikely to get resupplied for a while. It felt bigger on the inside than on the outside, with crisp white and black lettering. It stuck out severely among ekele furnishings—a tall blue box with a handled, bifold door, amidst an alien environment of swooping curves and intricate textures.

The only real work Silverfox needed to do for this part of the job was order stocks of remedies specific to the Tayledras, and their dyheli, tervardi, and kyree allies—and those could all come from here and from the three Vales sending the barges.

Books to his right hand, and the list on the desk in front of him, he fancied he looked more like a scholar right now than a specialist in sensuality. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled to himself. This is enough of a novelty that I’m enjoying it. I wouldn’t want to be doing this all the time, of that I am sure.

Still, with the breeze coming in the windows, a comfortable chair, and the surety that with every item he added to his list he was making some progress, there was a lot of satisfaction to be had.

And Ayshen will double-check me. Of that, I am completely sure.

Kelvren paced around the outside perimeter of his tent, admiring the way the hertasi had created a broad, pea-gravel path that blended beautifully with the native vegetation. And how they had created the equivalent of a “bathroom” for him outside the rear of the structure. More pea-gravel over sand, which itself was over a layer of charcoal, which was over a layer of ash. He could eliminate there, and with a tug of a rope, a shower of water from an overhead barrel with a perforated bottom would wash everything out of sight. And if he chose, he could stand there and get a shower, himself.

He’d tried it out already, just for the pure unadulterated pleasure of knowing that finally, after that battle, after being taken to pieces and stitched back up again—in numerous ways—he was completely clean. Then, he’d had a good bask in the sun to dry his feathers properly. And if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t dare simply enjoy a walk without pain, that he had to monitor himself constantly, he’d have been pretty content.

Well, until I remember how I was booted from being Wingleader. And exiled from the Vale. And . . .

He caught himself before he lost emotional equilibrium. That’s the past. Work with the present. Plan the future. And figure out how not to burst into flames!

Pacing helped, and pacing outside helped more. Ayshen must have known that; that was why there was this path. A path cleverly lit with stakes painted with something that—according to Ayshen—“ate” sunlight and then released it after dark. The hertasi had gone into a long and involved explanation about fireflies and glowing marsh fungus, and to be honest, Kel had let most of it flow over him without really listening.

Ayshen giddily enjoyed explaining things. And it wasn’t often he had a captive gryphon audience.

I wish it could be just me and Ayshen and perhaps Nightwind on this investigation. Oh, Kel liked his comforts, no doubt, but he’d never had to travel with enough people and creatures to fill a small village, and he could think of all sorts of reasons why it was going to be a bad idea. Well, for one thing, it wouldn’t be possible to move quietly, now, would it?

We’ll be alerting everything in our path for leagues around. And attracting anything nasty to at least come and take a look and see if they want to take a piece out of us.

On the other talon . . . there was safety in numbers. A big enough group and it would take something formidable indeed to risk attacking.

Even though he was walking, not flying, he still sensed his body greedily drinking in every tiny particle of ambient magic, which he (automatically, at this point) turned into light, leaving him glowing brightly enough that he shone even in the sunlight.

This business of minding himself inside while he was doing something other than lying down was . . . disconcerting. It wasn’t wrong, so much as it was keeping him ever so slightly off balance—he couldn’t just be. He supposed he could get used to it, but he didn’t like having to second-guess his gut. His gut had always known what to do, and he just did it without much direction. I trust my gut. My gut has never steered me to a bad buffet.

I think I had better go back inside and be quiet. I wonder if Ayshen left me any books.

He hadn’t paid much attention last night to the smaller amenities of his new eyrie, and once he’d awakened, he’d first been immersed in enjoying every single beak-full of the breakfast a hertasi named Jylan brought him. And then, in basking in the admiration of said hertasi. She’d brought in food from a handcart she pulled herself, then stationed herself at his elbow, breathless and wide-eyed, waiting for him to speak. For the first few moments, his hunger prevented him from focusing on anything other than the haunch of lean venison in front of him. But after the first few chunks had gone down his gullet, he turned to the wide-eyed creature. Some hertasi, like Ayshen, liked wearing clothing. Some didn’t. This was one of the latter; all the little lizard had was a belt full of pouches. Kel knew immediately that she was female by her muted coloring.

“Good morning,” he said. “Thank you for bringing my breakfast.”

“You’re welcome, Kelvren, sir. My name is Jylan, sir,” the hertasi said, eyes glittering with hero worship. “It’s an honor to bring you breakfast, sir!”