Beyond the protective circle of the Cetne mountain range lay an ancient forest. It was so densely packed that scarcely an inch of soil lay between one denizen and its neighbor; so it provided for what lay beyond a living wall, an expanse so wide that none dared brave crossing through. Many had tried to, only to be caught as the spaces between trees became smaller and smaller. Their bones left as markers, picked clean and white by the inhabitants of the woods.

On for miles this forest ran, a near-perfect circle, at the center no one was sure what resided. But the forest held something—the legends were true. Nestled deep within the boughs, branches and roots arose a city, built into the very bark that protected it. Hundreds of feet above, the canopy shielded even the keenest of eyes from spotting what rested beneath. So passed the time and the world, leaving Sar’Tahreen in peace.

The Air Prime sat before the Oracle, watching the milky swirls sway in their eternal dance. Prepare, sang the stone, its words and music audible only to her mind.

**For what, Oracle? ** she whispered back, the lights of the temple reflecting in her collar and bracelets that adorned each wrist.

Sar’Tahreen is no longer of its own; no more can we hide our truth from the outside world. Outsiders will breach the gates and enter the city of the Kreth’da.

The Air Prime scrambled backwards, too shocked at what had been said. What kind of outsiders would these be? Like their old masters, those who created them to be nothing more than slaves? No! They were stronger now, able to defend themselves as they’d done in the past, from invaders. The forest was larger now, due to their involvement, stronger and ruthless in capturing its prey. The Oracle had never spoken before of such a thing when others had tried. The mages were no more—or so they hoped. No one knew of their existence, no one knew what they were. They had hoped to start anew, away from the pain and suffering at the hands of their former owners.

A shiver ran down the spine of the Air Prime. Quickly, she turned and ran from the temple, her paws fleet upon the smooth stone. Without heeding dwellers, she dashed amongst the villa market, scattering mercantile wherever she went, leaving curious glances and questionable minds as they recognized her. Down the streets she blazed, a honey-colored flame, shot with orange and red.

Finally she reached the main building of the City, the House of Primes. Inside reclined her companions, those Primes of Light, Dark, Earth, and Water. They looked up at her as she came skidding to a halt on the tiled floor.

“Kyndaeryn!” exclaimed Raeshyn, Prime of Light, his rugged black mane rising in surprise. “What is the meaning of this?”

The Air Prime slewed up to them, chest heaving. She held up a paw, staving off any further questions until she caught her wind. When she was ready, she spoke: “We are to be invaded!”

Shock ran through each of the Primes. “Impossible!”

“Surely you mis-heard, Kyndaeryn!”

“Indeed, you must have!”

Shaking her head, Kyndaeryn sat on her haunches. “No. I have no mis-heard. The Oracle sang of outsiders breeching the gates of Sar’Tahreen and entering the city. It said that we are no longer hidden from the world.”

Raeshyn roared for silence. When he got his quiet, he paced up to the Air Prime, his rangy form contrasting to her own. Facing them, he said, “We shall journey back to the temple and seek the Oracle’s song for ourselves. If this is true, we must do all that we can to ensure the safety of Sar’Tahreen. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” they murmured in response.

SilverMoon patted gently at Syris’ brow, taking the fever-sweated cloth and rinsing it in a bucket of cold mountain water. The firefox gryphoness was delusional, muttering strange sentences and often obscenities. SilverMoon was distressed, her great wing veins fluttering out now and again as she tried so very hard to combat the moans of the sick. Grabbing a swatch of cotton from a passing trolley, she stuffed them into her ear-holes, only partially blocking out the sounds.

It was never this bad in the village, she thought with a frown of concentration. I’d rather deal with severed limbs than suffering.

Syris coughed, the spittle frothing on her burnished beak. Out of the corner of her mouth, her tongue hung, swollen and pale.

“How is she?” Likeshine murmured at the great dragoness’ elbow, putting a concerned taloned hand on her thigh.

SilverMoon glanced down and sighed, pulled the cotton out of her ears. “Say again?”

Likeshine repeated herself, eying the cotton balls. “She’s like all the others, I’m afraid,” the dragoness replied. Moaning, Syris lurched to one side of the pallet and vomited a thin line of liquid. Her right hand clutched at her left forearm, just above the elbow, where a poultice lay packed against the wound she’d received overnight. “Get me a towel, Shiney, please.”

Turning a slightly different shade of green around her nares, Likeshine got up swiftly and padded in-between the sick and caretakers. She reached the infirmary wall and dashed inside the closet, pulling the last clean towel free from its shelf. A pair of reddened and sunken eyes accosted her at the door to the closet.

“I need that,” rasped the voice behind the eyes, making a grab for the cloth.

Shrinking back in surprise, Likeshine foolishly clutched the towel closer to her chest. “Azura! What are you doing?”

The eyes spun away and the form tottered on its feet. A rainbow-highlighted black gryphoness popped up beside the red-eyed Guilder and took its hand. Sparkling sapphire eyes apologized to Likeshine over the chime of several bright earrings. “Come on, Azura, you’ve overtaxed yourself.” As the figure moved away from the darkened corner, Likeshine could make out the dull-hued blue-green scaled form of Azura Riverwing as Sashana Nuitara led her away.

“I have not,” the dragoness rasped once more, tottering.

“Yes you have,” the green gryphoness heard Sashana tell her as they turned the corner and out of the infirmary. Sighing heavily and still clutching the towel to her breast feathers, Likeshine got to her feet and walked with a hobbling three-gated motion back to SilverMoon.

The silver dragoness gave her a curious glance out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing as she took the proffered towel and began tearing it into strips. Likeshine took this as a sign that she should leave, and thus she did, carefully picking her way amongst her fellow Guilders. She stopped, pausing at the door, before exiting swiftly into the hall. Padding down the corridor some ways, she halted and slipped herself into a crevice. There, squatting amongst the tall granite pillars, she slid to the floor and cried.

A soft touch.

“Why Shine cry?”

Gasping, Likeshine scrabbled upwards, finding herself blocked from the front and nowhere to go. Huge, luminous golden eyes stared back at her, with a touch of madness in the corners. Bright neon green ear tags swung from orange tufted ears and the gryphon asked once more: “Why does Shine cry?”

Pressing a hand to her thudding heart, Likeshine tried to control her breathing. This just wasn’t her day! “Gods, Blaze! Don’t do that!”

The orange gryphon made a small dismissive sound and clicked his beak, sitting upon his haunches, fiddling with his ever-present watch. “And if I did not? Would you like to remain here and be subject to others’ queries? Better me than other Guilders, I say.”

Through her calming technique, the green gryphoness had to admit Blaze possessed a kernel of truth. Better to be him than some other of her fellow members. Gathering herself into a sitting position, she surreptitiously began to preen her mussed feathers. “So … uhm, where are you off to, Blaze?”

Here the scientific gryph smiled. “Off to see my Protected, of course. It is my turn to watch the gryphlets!”

Protected? Protected? What in the gods’ name—oh! “Crys and Muse never seem to have an end to babysitters, do they?”

“Oh, no. Everyone loves Shyne and and Sular; if you are all right, I may go then.”

Nodding, she confirmed. “Oh yes, I’m better, thank you, Blaze.”

“My pleasure, Likeshine.” And with that, he was off, meandering aimlessly back down the hall and ascended the stairs at the end.

“Strange fellow,” the gryphoness muttered and proceeded in the opposite direction.

Copyright 2002, Crystal Shekeira. All Guilders are © themselves. The Gryphon's Guild is trademarked to Tserisa Supalla. All other names, places and events are © MH. Do not alter, copy or distribute.