Griff's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Marcus had not come. Three days Griff waited on the twisted tree, watching the trail and the stone circle below, but he never appeared. She flew back to camp twice each day to check if he'd taken a different route, but each time she found him near the tents, repairing gear or talking with others. On the fourth morning, she found the tracks. Four wide pads pressed into the mud near the water barrel, each one the size of Marcus's palm. The rear print showed the drag mark of a dewclaw. Griff went completely still on the tent pole above. Mountain lion. The same kind that had ambushed Marcus two winters ago, the one that left three claw marks across his shoulder before she drove it off. She lifted into the air and followed the tracks northeast, away from camp. They led her up a rocky slope to a narrow gap between two boulders. Beyond it, arranged in a rough pile against the stone, sat dozens of skulls. Deer, elk, smaller animals she couldn't name. All bleached white by sun and time. The mountain lion had claimed this territory and marked it with death. Griff's wings faltered. The stone circle didn't matter anymore. The amulet didn't matter. Marcus would come this way eventually, following some trail or chasing some goal, and the lion would be waiting. She couldn't force him to remember the past when the present was already hunting him. Griff circled back toward camp, scanning the ground. She found the kill site in a ravine below the skull pile. A dark red pool spread across the rocks, still wet in the center. Bones jutted from the crimson like broken teeth. Fresh. The mountain lion had fed here within the last day, maybe less. She landed on a boulder above the blood and called out three sharp cries. Death above. The warning echoed off the rocks, but no one was close enough to hear. Marcus couldn't avoid what he didn't know was coming. She launched skyward and flew straight for camp. This time she wouldn't wait for him to walk past a stone circle or notice a lost amulet. This time she would land on his shoulder and scream warnings until he listened, or until she drove him away from this place herself. Protection meant more than memory. It meant keeping him alive today. But when she reached camp, Marcus was gone. His pack sat near the tent, but his water flask and knife were missing. Griff shrieked and circled higher, searching the trails. There—a figure moving through the trees, heading northeast. Toward the skull pile. Toward the lion's territory. She dove hard, wings folded tight, and struck his shoulder with her talons extended. Marcus stumbled and turned, his hand raised to shield his face. She hit him again, driving him backward down the trail. He shouted something she didn't care to understand. She kept hitting him, forcing him step by step away from the northeast path. Finally he retreated toward camp, cursing and waving his arms. Griff landed on a branch between him and the direction he'd been walking. She spread her wings wide and went completely still. Marcus stared at her for a long moment, then looked past her toward the northeast. His hand moved to his shoulder where the old scars lay hidden beneath his shirt. He turned and walked back to camp. Griff stayed on the branch until he disappeared into his tent, then flew to the amulet in the stone circle and carried it back. She dropped it on his tent flap where he couldn't miss it. Some memories weren't meant to teach lessons. Some were meant to be kept close like talismans against the darkness. She found a small faceted crystal near the kill site earlier, shaped like a heart and still clean despite the blood nearby. She'd carried it back in her beak, and now she buried it beneath the tent corner where Marcus slept. A reminder for herself of what she'd almost lost twice, and what she would fight to keep.