“I can help you.”
The voice startles Cerva as she lies herself against the rock. Her breaths are coming and going in large waves, her body racked with exhaustion. Having been chased and navigating through tunnels, caves, and weaseling between rocks has shaken sweet Cerva. All the fibers of her muscles are quivering as she lies in the fresh, powdery snow, recovering. Her heart is in her throat and still her breath catches when the voice knives through the silence. Unfortunately, she doesn’t yet have the energy to move away from it or to yet investigate. Instead, she musters the strength – both physical and emotional – to ask, ”Help me with what?” Her dished head cranes to the side expectantly as she waits for an answer that never comes. ”Where am I?” she tries again, but there still remains an eerie quiet. The voice came and left, but the echoes are still ringing in her ears.
Cerva doesn’t ignore the offer. After only a few tiresome heartbeats, only when she has recovered and stilled her racing thoughts, does she rise again to her feet. Her coat is blanketed with fallen snow, but she shakes herself vigorously before joining the creature at the center. When it offers a drink, she obliges. Her throat is dry from the bitter wind, but the water is sweet on her tongue and sates her for the moment. Cerva hardly noticed the rocks forming a shield wall around her, trapping her in its dark embrace. ”I’m not going back,” she asserts which surprises even herself, ”someone needs my help.” But she’s beginning to wonder if it’s actually her that needs the help.
The doors shimmer into view as do the images of creatures she has never before seen. One is similar to the mountain troll, but larger – so much larger – and with a defined neck but still rippling with muscles. For a fleeting moment Cerva anticipates the options to be an ally in her next endeavor, but then she is warned. ”Stop them?” Just as easily as that, she realizes that these creatures are further obstacles. Her nutmeg eyes dart back and forth between the images, trembling at the prospect of crossing paths. The giant reminds her far too much of the troll, of its monstrous strides and power. She shakes her head. ”Griffin,” but as the word slips from her tongue she sees the eagle face and monstrous beak. The claws don’t escape her notice either, but it’s too late now.
The image lurches forward at her, trying to grab her, but Cerva squeals and scampers backwards.
It was just an image.
Just as it makes contact with her skin, the shimmering creature dissipates and the door opens.
Cerva enters slowly, but hesitates. Her mind is playing with her, repeating the cries for help – but it’s so believable – and it sounds like they are so close. She lurches forward and begins to run down the frigid tunnel until the footing changes ever so slightly. There is a depression and she slides to a halt. A wall is in front of her, forcing her to turn to the right. Her voice is stuck, her tongue swollen with fear. While she wants to call out, something – a gut feeling – is holding her back.
Unable to see in the darkness, Cerva reaches out tendrils of poison ivy from underneath the earth. Vines sprout and slither across the surface of the ground, slowly, gingerly.
Only feet away does she both hear and feel her ivy torn. Immediately she retracts her magic and shies to the side only to hear a scraping on the stone she was just standing in front of. There is a screech that drowns her thoughts as it fills the halls. The Griffin has found her and is already trying to maul her and bring this adventure to an end. The eagle doesn’t have (as) strong eyesight in the dark; it’s relying on other senses and the touch of her ivy to guide it to her location. It lunges at her again, blindly, and their bodies this time collide. Air is forced from Cerva’s lungs as she collapses to the ground. She can just barely see the griffin when her head lifts up; her vision isn’t all so bad in the darkness. It’s towering above her, listening for her, but she doesn’t move – not yet. As a horse, standing would be somewhat slow and clumsy. She’s too large to go undetected.
Cerva’s shift is so natural and so fluid now after years of practice. She remains in the same position, but now as a badger, and her vision is amplified so that she may more clearly see the griffin and its breath clouding in front of its nostrils.
It screeches and she curls up in fear.
Dovev, she reminds herself, and slowly lifts to her padded feet. Her left side is throbbing from the muscular creature ramming her, but she doesn’t allow the discomfort to hinder her too much. She is getting away on whispered footsteps, but she makes the mistake of trying to climb a small ledge. It had seemed possible from her vantage point, but her body is hanging from the edge with her hind legs scraping against rock. The griffin advances immediately and lunges with a large beak. It stabs the rock next to her and realizes its error immediately before coming quickly at her again. It pins her tail and she screeches before swiveling to claw and bite anything she can. It’s a battle of everything sharp. She is flung aside, but she notices the dampness of her paws when she reels away. Avoid the corners, she advises herself. Run.
Cerva scrambles quickly, but badgers can run at a quick speed only for a short distance.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel – she sees it – but just when it looms nearer it’s suddenly receding. The griffin has her in its grasp, pinning her down and lunging its beak at her again and again. Is the blood hers or the monster’s? She’s clawing, biting, screeching, squirming, until there is a loud scream and the pressure is released from her body. When she blinks away her bleary – frightened – vision she sees the griffin reeling away with blood draining from its eyes. Pain is shooting through it in its yelps, and Cerva can only spare a moment to mournfully stare on. ”I’m so sorry,” she isn’t a warrior; she has always been far too kindhearted and gentle to harm anyone, but her life was slipping through her fingers. Even with adrenaline coursing through her veins she can still notice the throbbing of her muscles and shooting stabs that freeze her in her step.
”Go, go, go,” she is having to force herself to move. She has managed to blind the creature, but it isn’t enough. There is rage beginning to surface in its cries and Cerva knows how quickly her time is ticking. Shifting back into a horse, she hoists herself into a staggering trot then a gallop. The cavern widens into a room – perhaps its den and nest? – and it’s large enough for the monster to run behind her then take flight. There is a departure hole at the top that’s leaking sunlight, but it doesn’t fly to escape. Instead, it listens for her and dives with claws outstretched and hungry for her flesh. Cerva runs – it’s all she can do – until her leg buckles and she is forced to the ground. It lands next to her, screeching, and she responds with an abrupt, loud shout. ”STOP!” She can’t bring herself to hurt it, not any more than she has. The yell startles it to the side and Cerva seizes the moment and extends a multitude of ivy vines. They spill forward like a thousand snakes and wind around the griffin’s legs, beak, wings – everything. The poison ivy traps the monster and forces it to the ground. Even then, more vines are erupting from the cold ground and sliding across the monster’s body to further pin it down and save herself. ”I’m sorry,” is all she whispers into its incoherent ears before she turns and limps away.
Cerva often glances back but there’s only silence broken by an occasional – futile – struggle from the griffin.
With blood trickling down her legs, Cerva again approaches the light where it eventually opens to a door and a white room. The brightness, after having been in a dark cave, startles her. Her head drops and her forelock slips across her eyes as she waits, panting and trembling.
Cerva
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