Chapter Two: Cry in the Night
Time passed; Greg wasn't sure how much, only that when he looked up from his pity party he saw the sun going down. His stomach wailed protest, its demand for food rising to a shrill pitch. The Sergeant cocked his head, trying to calculate how long he'd gone without, then winced as his belly made it clear it didn't care how long it had been, it just wanted food. Grumbling, the gryphon looked around, unsure of where to start. He'd never gone camping as a kid and besides, campers usually brought their own food rather than hunting for it. What did gryphons eat anyway? Meat, yes, but was it more on the lion side or did the eagle rule that roost? Cocking his head the other way, Greg prodded at his magic and gryphon instincts. Not much help there…his instincts apparently believed in whatever was easiest to catch. Pragmatic, but not much help for a city boy used to hunting down his meat in the nearby grocery store.
Sighing, Greg tilted his beak up, sniffing the air. Water…fish, perhaps? If he could fish, that might be easier than hunting for a deer or whatever wildlife lived in this forest. With a faint idea, the gryphon made his way towards the water, hoping it was a decent-sized river. He hadn't seen any fish in the creek he'd been wading in earlier.
Well… The good news was that it was a river, just like he'd hoped. Now what was he supposed to do? Whining, he regarded the water, searching for any signs of fish in the shallows. His wings flicked out, then closed, frustration seething. He couldn't risk flying, couldn't risk being seen, but eagles flew to catch fish – he did know that much.
Greg paused, spying a tiny splash – a fish? Hazel focused in…yes, yes it was. Hunger screamed, overriding caution; the gryphon sprang, landing in the water with a hiss. Talons lashed out, but closed on nothing as the fish fled. He snatched at the water for several more moments before slumping. Sorrowful, he swam back to shore and clambered out; wings spread and then he shook violently, water flying from both fur and feathers. Unhappy, he turned his head, slumping even more when he realized he'd have to dry off and preen before he could fly. So much for an easy meal of fish…
Scrounging through the forest netted him a few berry bushes – despite his carnivore nature, he savaged the fruits, desperate for something to fill his belly. The food went down, but gurgled unpleasantly; gryphons, it seemed, were not omnivores, even when they were Animagi. Bother.
Though the sun's light was almost gone, Greg kept searching, switching his focus to the small animals he could hear in the trees and on the ground. Even if they weren't much of a meal, he was hungry enough to try. Trouble was, he was half-eagle and half-lion…and not the mountain lion type. Even if he could figure out how to hunt, he wasn't suited to this environment. But dying of starvation did not appeal, so he had to figure something out.
A rustling came from nearby; he froze, training all his senses on it. Then he whipped around and pounced, talons unsheathed. Only to slump down in disappointment as the rabbit scurried away, terrified, but unscathed.
Parker kept trying, scavenging throughout the night, ignoring his poor night vision and lack of experience. Surely if he kept trying, he'd find something. But for all his efforts, not a single animal fell to his claws. He was never, ever going to look down his nose at hunters again…how did they do this?
Close to sunrise, he stumbled onto a deer hidden behind a boulder and partially buried. The sound of soft mewlings stilled him just as he was about to drag the deer free. Despite his stomach's wails for food, he couldn't bring himself to steal from hungry kittens. Surviving in the wild was hard enough without an ungrateful able-bodied thief coming along. Guiltily, he crept away, leaving the deer where it was.
Before he could reach the edge of the small clearing, he heard another mewl and looked down. A small cub, no taller than his foreleg, darted out of hiding and growled at him, plainly imitating its mother's response to unwelcome guests. Amusement stirred, his own instincts regarding the cub as more of an annoyance than anything else. Glancing about, he spied the den being used and turned back to the cub. Reaching down, he plucked the cub off the ground, lifting it by the nape of its neck with his beak. Part of him worried he'd hurt the little one, but the cub merely curled up, just like a young kitten. Greg carried the cub to its den and let it down, gently pushing it inside to relative safety. It went, only to turn around and growl again. Huffing a gryphon chuckle, the Sergeant left, unaware of the mother mountain lion watching from the trees.
Had the mother mountain lion been capable of human thought, she would have been quite astounded. She'd heard her kits' cries and hurried back, dreading the worst. A male, killing her young so he could father her next litter, or perhaps a rival female hoping to claim her territory. Instead, she'd arrived to see an animal she'd never seen before, reluctantly backing away from the deer she'd killed the previous night. To her disbelief, the animal hadn't stolen the meat, instead turning to leave the clearing that hid her den. The wind carried his scent to her, smelling of fire and humans. When her most adventurous cub had confronted the intruder, she'd waited for the inevitable. Instead, the strange animal had carried her cub back to her den and continued on his way without laying claw or fang on her young.
She growled, letting out a yowl that left her cubs in no doubt that they were to stay put and not come out again. Then she turned and followed after the strange animal, watching his progress closely from the trees. He was trying to hunt, but her young cubs could hunt better than the blundering idiot crashing through the forest and scaring all the game away. He knew it, too; she could see his frustration and bewilderment, even from a safe distance. It made his actions all the more unexpected – an animal who could not hunt and yet he'd left her kill where it was. She didn't understand.
As he clattered through another clearing, she loped ahead of him and dropped down, hissing to get his attention. He stilled, studying her with something like trepidation. The mountain lion lowered, deliberately stalking around him; he turned to follow her movements, wariness growing. Then she gave a small yowl and stalked away, turning her head to glance over her shoulder at the edge of the clearing. The strange animal eyed her, staying stock-still. She growled imperiously, beckoning him to follow. At length, he paced forward, but not in a crouch. Immediately, she stalked back to him, snarling and butting his chest in disapproval. He backed up, tail lashing and confusion plain. Crouching, she paced past him again to the clearing's edge. For a moment, he glanced from her to the middle of the clearing and back again. Then he crouched, stalking after her; she rumbled approval.
Huh…talk about unreal. A mother mountain lion taking time out of caring for her young to teach some strange gryphon how to hunt. At least, that's what Greg assumed the wild animal was doing. He did his best to imitate her, though his wings prevented him from moving as silently as she did – perhaps most gryphons hunted from the sky, like eagles. She seemed to understand, only 'insisting' on him crouching and padding as quietly as possible. Quite persistent for a 'dumb' animal. When she went up a tree, he blanched, then did his best to follow, digging talons and hind paws into the tree bark.
Once in the trees, his guide picked up speed, though her movements remained quiet. The gryphon struggled to keep up without raising a hue and cry. Her route took them in the opposite direction of Toronto, but he kept his beak shut. She didn't know and he'd never make it home if he starved to death halfway there. Instead, he followed close as she guided him to a herd of deer. Once the herd was in sight, her pace slowed to a stalk. Not a paw was put out of place and not a sound was made. He tried to imitate her, struggling to keep his talons from scraping the bark of the tree he was on. Slowly, slowly, the two predators approached a young deer grazing on the edge of the herd. As their movements brought them right above the animal, Greg froze. His first inclination was to drop right on the deer's back and dig in, but he suspected that was the wrong way to go about it.
A beat later, the female dropped out of the tree, landing near, but not on, the young buck. In one smooth motion, she lunged, latching on with her claws as she went for the neck. The deer went wild, thrashing, screeching, and bucking, but all to no avail. The mountain lion's front paws kept her prey in place and even let her wrench the deer sideways to gain better access to the vulnerable neck. She bit down; above her, Greg cringed, the crack of the animal's spinal cord audible. After a few more seconds, the animal ceased to thrash.
The mountain lion released her prey and stepped back, turning to glance up at her student. The strange animal dropped from its hiding place, landing next to her to regard the deer. She turned to him and gently licked his neck in thanks for not harming her cubs, then melted back into the forest to return to them. She had given him both a lesson and a meal – he was on his own now.
Greg gazed after the mountain lion, understanding a wry burn under his fur. On his own again. Then he turned to the deer, swallowing hard. He wasn't about to turn down the generous gift, but eating raw meat… Eeugh… His human side shuddered even as his gryphon side salivated, eager for the food right under his beak. Grimacing, the Sergeant crouched and began to eat, using his claws to tear the meat into smaller beak-sized bites.
At first, his human side dominated, still horrified by the raw meat and the whole predator-prey…deal. But as he continued his meal, his gryphon side roared to the fore, fairly delighting in the feast before him. Instead of being distasteful and nearly impossible to swallow, the meat was delicious. The bites grew more sure; rather than cautiously slicing bite-sized pieces with his talons, the gryphon seized a chunk, snapping his head sideways to tear off a beakful, then tossed his head up to swallow it down. Talons dug in, pulling the juicier bits closer; in the back of his mind, he let his human side slip away.
He 'woke' to find himself gnawing on one of the last few bones left from the deer; the rest of the carcass was gone and his stomach felt comfortably full. For a moment, nausea churned, then his gryphon instincts overrode his human ones, rumbling with pleasure at the meal he'd just enjoyed. Greg tried to fight it, but the instincts were just too strong; rather than horror, Parker found himself with a keen desire to go hunting and catch the next deer himself. Or perhaps he could go fishing – with his wings this time.
It took a minute to fight through the gryphon instinct haze and remind his wild side that living in the mountains of whatever country he was currently in was not the plan. The plan was to go home, grovel at his family's feet, and hopefully get back to being human. For a few seconds, it was a battle of wills, then his gryphon half receded, though it insisted on keeping control of the meal side of the equation. Huffing internally, Greg opted to focus on more important issues. Like the grime all over his fur and feathers.
Parker pushed himself up and headed into the woods, angling for the lake he'd found the prior evening. When he reached the water, he dove in and splashed around, wings flapping and beak busy with grooming the fur on his chest. The gryphon headed back to shore, hauling himself up to shake the water out. Instincts purred and he turned, jumping back into the lake. Instead of flapping around, he swam further out and ducked beneath the surface, hauling his entire bulk underwater. When he surfaced, he was wet right down to his tail feathers; part of him was a bit fearful of sinking, but he had no trouble swimming back out of the water. In fact, his wings even helped, adding a 'breast stroke' motion to the lion paddle he had going with paws and talons.
Once on shore again, he shook as much water out of his fur and feathers as possible, then sat down to preen his feathers. He wanted to get going, but neglecting anything that could help him get home wasn't the best plan. So instead of blazing towards Toronto at top speed, Greg forced himself to stay put and ensure every last feather was in its place.
As the day wore on towards the evening, Greg wound his way through the forest, following his invisible ties to his faraway team. Given his difficulties hunting, it would be best to cover as much ground as he could before his stomach started complaining again. The gryphon did his best to move both quickly and silently, attempting to practice the stealth he'd need for his next hunt. Or maybe he could fish instead; it would undoubtedly take more fish to fill his belly as opposed to one deer, but Parker figured the time investment would be about the same, especially if he let his gryphon half handle the actual hunting.
By the time the sun went down, he was starting to stumble. When one stumble nearly resulted in a tumble down a small cliff, Greg gave up and found some bushes to curl up in, using the greenery to hide his unique looks from any nighttime hikers. The gryphon curled as tight as he could, tucking his head under one wing before going to sleep.
The next morning, the Sergeant started off, his pace much slower as he prowled through the underbrush, searching for either a handy source of fish or an equally handy deer. He refused to backtrack, maintaining a stalemate with his hunger until he caught the scent of water. He followed his beak, deciding the risk that all he'd find was a creek was worth sating his thirst. Instead of a lake or stream, he found a fast running river. About to back away, furry, feathery ears pricked, catching the sound of jumping fish. A few careful leaps put him right at the spot in the river that the fish – either salmon or trout – were attempting to jump. Rather than spending hours trying to hunt down his next meal, all Greg had to do was sit, wait, and snap the fish up in his beak. Even better, while the taste was different from the deer he'd dined on, the meat was just as good, filling his stomach with minimal effort.
He was gnawing on one last fish when he heard a cry. Not animal – human. In an instant, he was on his feet, ears forward, and his body angled towards the sound. He paused long enough to finish his dessert, then headed for the sound, ignoring the fact that it was taking him in a different direction than Toronto. To walk away – he couldn't do it any more than he could've ignored the stench of decomp.
For over a day, Greg cut through the forest towards that human cry, concern growing with each passing kilometer. While his trek had started with one cry, he'd soon picked up more, each of them plaintive and seeming to beg for help. He couldn't turn his back, he just couldn't. He continued to hunt, but contented himself with whatever he could catch the fastest, learning to live with an empty stomach – gryphons, like most predators, had a faster metabolism than humans and also needed a great deal more food. Parker pushed the gnawing aside, resisting the urge to move faster.
With one murder victim already behind him, the Sergeant couldn't help but suspect he might have another 'predator' to deal with…this one a human predator. He had no proof, but there was something about the way the man he'd found had just been…left. No attempt at a burial, no attempt to retrieve any of the arrows – it had been as if the victim was just a toy, to be played with before being abandoned in the woods because he was 'broken'. He hadn't been able to help the poor man, but maybe…maybe he could help another would-be victim. Put his talons and claws to good use. It was something to strive for at any rate.