Chapter 2

Sklyar set Rantharion down on the ledge and proceeded inside to the back of the cave.  It was just large enough for her wings to fit if she crouched.  Rantharion stood in a stowic pose and watched as she folded and shook the water off her wings to be seated.  He took out a smoke and placed it loosely between his lips, but he did not light it.  It just needed to sit there as he toyed with it and slowly bit away at its base.  He was in no rush from his journey.   Skylar was content to sit and wait.  Everything had its time.

Rantharion stared out along the mountain peaks. His hand reached to his belt to reassure himself of the package.  They were an unlikely couple, a griffin and a rogue.  Yet, business brought these two together who otherwise would never have crossed paths.  Rantharion was a human from the highlands to the North.  They were called rogues due to their retreat from the Main Lands generations ago, where their forefathers left the structured society of human civilization.  They lived by the gun.  There was no law but that which you carried.  Rantharion was a swift, deadly marksman with the gun and an intimidating eye for those who confronted his order. Yet, there was honor and bonds between the people from the hardships of living with scarcity and solitude.  Rantharion was from the Thoran line that held the most influence over the people.  They were descendants from the powerful kings of the Main Land. 

Long ago a rift stared between the relations of the two ruling families.  The sons of Thoran confronted the challenging family of Wirimar who wished to take claim to the throne.  

He shifted his gaze toward Skylar who sat on her hounches waiting for him to speak. He knew this, but kept his lips closed around the nawed end of his smoke.  Her line claimed decendency from the Sky Goddess Esteraya, blessed with longevity and the vision to mix elixers from the star's juice and moon's winds.  His mind paced...(to be cont) 

Chapter 1

It was bright that night. The sun had fallen behind the dusty mountains but an hour or two ago, leaving the moon and stars to emit thier soft glow over the hills and plains. Skylar sat at the mouth of her mountain santuary just close enought to let the raindrops spray her face as they hit the ground.  She loved the rain. Everything about it was so fresh and new. The smell was sweet, and the coolness of the ground carried the scent into the cave's one chamber to relieve it from its rare, dusty smell. 

Skylar looked out across the horizon and scanned to neighboring mountains.  Just past them was a valley with a small town.  The town was focused along the one thin river that ran from the western mountains down into some underground caverns passed the next set of southern peaks across the valley. There lived the miners, pale cavern dwellers no bigger than that of a human youth.  They were bald except for the distinguishing white whiskers that the men grew as long as they could manage and tied them in briads.  They mined the minerals from the hard mountian water, men and women alike.  Their hands were constantly soft and damp and wrinkled from their work.  Then they would take there findings and sell them to apothicaries, medical officials, and anybody else was intersted in their findings.

Skylar scanned the gaping heavens.  It was a clear night...not a cloud.  The rain lightly fell and shimmered.  Tears from the stars.  The land was cleansed that way.  Every new moon the stars would weep to honor its cycle and let the moon's new radiance expound along the cracks and cravices of the earth.  In return the moon would slowly cover itself with the sky's dark cloak to let the stars have their turn to influence the night's proceedings.  That was the balance of things, a constant give and take.

Yawning, Skylar stretched her legs and wings. She was a griffin from the Tollaber tribe.  They perched in the western mountains of the Tollary Range about a month's travel from where she rested now.  Her legs were covered in downy feathers and fine fur that traveled from her thighs to her large pawed feet.  She wore a weaved shash of vibrant green and gold yarn around her waist and a leather strap across her chest for her three throwing knives and blade sharpening kit.  Her large axe sat in the back corner of the cave away from the dampness outside.  It was carved in her native tongue with symbols of victory and glory. 

Her ears perked as she heard a niose from the earthened floor below. It was Rantharion, her compainion.  He had come back from the town.  She stood and beat her powerful wings.  They each stretched 12 feet in length.  Her green eyes looked keenly at the canyon below.  She leaped.

From the ground Rantharion could see Skylar swiftly following the mountain's frame down to retrieve him. He stood waiting, glancing to either side of him with his shotgun on the ready.  His wet trench coat sparkled with the luminescent teardrops.  Skylar beat her wings stiffly and landed on the ledge right above him.  He held out an inconspicuous paper package and then tied it to his belt.  Skylar nodded offering her hand. No words could be uttered on the mountian floor.  Curious ears where in more places than could be seen. Rantharion's course, gloved hand grasped Skylar's strong palm.  With a sharp jerk, he was lifted off the ground and carried up the mountain face.  He cletched his jaw and sucked in the cool air. He was not fond of hieghts, but this was not formost on his mind tonight.  He had other news.