Urna huffed wryly to communicate the depths of her unsurprise and hooked the bauble with the tip of one tentacle. She'd just twisted to put it in her satchel when—
Wingbeats. Big ones. Her eyes slid to Matthias, standing with his own wings still very furled and his ears alert. Fuck. Her stomach dropped, but she held onto tenuous hope that it might be something else until Matthias called the news from the mouth of the den.
The gryphon was back.
The fear Urna had squashed down leapt back into her chest, the pulse of her inner flame flickering in time with her heartbeat. They were trapped here. Or, no, she was trapped. Matthias had wings. If she went out the way she'd come, she'd be exposed against the cliff face, an easy target if a territorial gryphon chose to strike.
But Matthias—he didn't fly off. Instead, he turned deeper into the den, keeping low and quiet. Urna, uncertain, followed. There was another route back there, one she hadn't seen, one where she didn't need wings to escape. Her belly scraped soil on the steep slope, but they emerged from an entrance hidden by brush on the top of the plateau.
Not for the first time, Urna heaved a sigh of relief and nearly flopped down again for love of solid, reliable ground—but the closeness of the gryphon's wingbeats urged her onward. "Go," she hissed, shouldering past Matthias.
Safe in the stands of pine, she caught her breath. She'd had enough of this. She hadn't found anything. She was ready to leave. If Ohr wanted them to check this place out, he should've contacted someone who could fly. Urna realized midway through her internal rant that she could've told someone else. Grudgingly, she let her anger gutter out, and turned to Matthias.
"Thanks," she said. "I guess. For not ditching me back there." Even if it was your fault we were in there in the first— She strangled that line of thought. Being pleasant. Urna forced a toothy smile that unfortunately resembled more of a snarl. "I'm going home," she gritted, pleasantly. "Stay safe, blue guy."
Wingbeats. Big ones. Her eyes slid to Matthias, standing with his own wings still very furled and his ears alert. Fuck. Her stomach dropped, but she held onto tenuous hope that it might be something else until Matthias called the news from the mouth of the den.
The gryphon was back.
The fear Urna had squashed down leapt back into her chest, the pulse of her inner flame flickering in time with her heartbeat. They were trapped here. Or, no, she was trapped. Matthias had wings. If she went out the way she'd come, she'd be exposed against the cliff face, an easy target if a territorial gryphon chose to strike.
But Matthias—he didn't fly off. Instead, he turned deeper into the den, keeping low and quiet. Urna, uncertain, followed. There was another route back there, one she hadn't seen, one where she didn't need wings to escape. Her belly scraped soil on the steep slope, but they emerged from an entrance hidden by brush on the top of the plateau.
Not for the first time, Urna heaved a sigh of relief and nearly flopped down again for love of solid, reliable ground—but the closeness of the gryphon's wingbeats urged her onward. "Go," she hissed, shouldering past Matthias.
Safe in the stands of pine, she caught her breath. She'd had enough of this. She hadn't found anything. She was ready to leave. If Ohr wanted them to check this place out, he should've contacted someone who could fly. Urna realized midway through her internal rant that she could've told someone else. Grudgingly, she let her anger gutter out, and turned to Matthias.
"Thanks," she said. "I guess. For not ditching me back there." Even if it was your fault we were in there in the first— She strangled that line of thought. Being pleasant. Urna forced a toothy smile that unfortunately resembled more of a snarl. "I'm going home," she gritted, pleasantly. "Stay safe, blue guy."