Blood of the Fold

Patting the gar's back, Richard struggled to get air into his lungs. "I love you too, Gratch."

Gratch, the green gleam back in his eyes, held Richard out for a critical inspection, as if to assure himself that his friend was intact. He let out a purling gurgle that bespoke his relief, whether at finding Richard safe or at having stopped before tearing him apart, Richard wasn't sure, but he did know that he, too, was relieved that it was over. His muscles, the fear, anger, and fury of the fight abruptly gone from them, throbbed with a dull ache.

Richard took a deep breath at the heady feeling of having survived the sudden attack, but he was unsettled by the mutability of Cratch's usual gentle disposition into such deadly ferocity. He glanced around at the startling amount of foul-smelling gore spilled across the snow. Gratch hadn't done it all. As he put down the last vestige of the magic's anger, it struck him that perhaps Gratch saw him in a similar light. Just as Richard, Gratch had risen to the threat.

"Gratch, you knew they were here, didn't you?"

Gratch nodded enthusiastically, adding a bit of a growl to make his point. It occurred to Richard that when he had last seen Gratch growling with such vehemence, outside the Hagen Woods, it must have been because he sensed the presence of the mriswith.

The Sisters of the Light had told him that occasionally the mriswith strayed from the Hagen Woods, and that no one, not Sisters of the Light — sorceresses — or even wizards, had been able to perceive their presence, or had ever survived an encounter with them. Richard had been able to sense them because he was the first in near to three thousand years to be born with both sides of the gift. So how did Gratch know they were there?

"Gratch, could you see them?" Gratch pointed to a few of the carcasses, as if to point them out for Richard. 'No, I can see them now. I mean before, when I was talking to Mistress Sanderhok and you were growling. Could you see (hem then?" Gratch shook his head. "Could you hear them, or smell them?" Gratch frowned in thought, his ears twitching, and then shook his head again. "Then how did you know they were there, before we could see them?"

'Eyebrows as big as axe handles drew together as the huge beast frowned down at Richard. He shrugged, looking perplexed about his failure to come up with a satisfactory answer.

"You mean that before you could see them, you couid feel them? Something inside just told you they were there?"

Gratch grinned and nodded, happy that Richard seemed to understand. That was similar to how Richard knew they were there; before he could see them, he could sense them, see them in his mind. But Gratch didn't have the gift. How could he do it?

Perhaps it was just because animals could sense things before people could. Wolves commonly knew you were there before you knew they were. Usually, the only time you knew a deer was in a thicket was when it bolted, having sensed you long before you saw it. Animals generally had keener senses than people, and predators some of the keenest. Gratch was certainly a predator. That sense seemed to have served him better than Richard's magic had him.

Mistress Sanderholt, having come down to the bottom of the steps, laid a bandaged hand on Cratch's furry arm. "Gratch. .thank you." She turned to Richard, lowering her voice. "I thought he was going to kill me, too," she confided. She glanced at several of the torn bodies. "I've seen gars do that to people. When he snatched me up like that, I thought sure he was going to kill me. But I was wrong; he's different." She peered back up at Gratch. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Cratch's smile showed the full length of his bloody fangs. The sight made her gasp.

Richard glanced up at the sinister-loo king, grinning face. "Stop smiling, Gratch. You're scaring her again."

His mouth turned down, his lips covering his prodigious, wickedly sharp fangs. His wrinkled features melted into a sulk. Gratch viewed himself as lovable, and seemed to think it only natural that everyone else would, too.

Mistress Sanderholt stroked the side of Cratch's arm. "It's all right. His smile is heartfelt, and handsome in its own way. I'm just not… used to it, that's all."

Gratch smiled at Mistress Sanderholt again, adding a sudden, spirited flapping of his wings. Unable to help herself, Mistress Sanderholt lurched back a step. She was just coming to understand that this gar was different from those that were always a threat to people, but her instincts still ruled that understanding. Gratch made for the woman, to give her a hug. Richard was sure she would die of fright before she realized the gar's benign intent, so he put a restraining arm in front of Gratch.

"He likes you, Mistress Sanderholt. He just wanted to give you a hug, that's all. But I think your thanks are enough."

She quickly regained her composure. "Nonsense." Smiling warmly, she held her arms out. "I'd like a hug, Gratch."