1 Chapter 1

1

Tuxtax ran into his sister’s bedroom in a panic. Shaking her dappled wings to wake her, he shouted, “El, help!”

His sister awoke with a gasp; she shot out of bed as soon as she saw his bloodied form. “What’s wrong? What happened? Tax, you’re covered in blood!”

“It’s not me. Rixa’s been hurt! Someone attacked him—he’s unconscious and bleeding. We need to help him.”

Eleuthereia sighed in relief. “You frightened me! I saw you covered in blood and I thought…”

Tuxtax ruffled his bronze wings, agitated by her overprotective nature. Wiping the gore from his hands onto his linen kilt, he huffed in impatience. “El, I’m fine. I found him on my pre-dawn flight. I tried to lift him to carry him back here, but he’s too heavy.”

“What were you thinking? Of course he’d be too heavy for you.”

Tuxtax blushed, his tan cheeks deepening in embarrassment.

His sister’s eyes widened, as if perceiving the sting in her words. She quickly added, “He’d be too heavy for any vanth to move, brother. He’s a fully grown centaur. Even if we work together, we’ll struggle to carry him back here.”

“We need to try! He’s hurt, El.”

“Give me a moment to fetch some supplies.”

“We need to go now, El,” Tuxtax huffed. His wings twitched in impatience.

“Brother, take a moment to think. What if he needs care before we can move him? I’ll gather up some bandages and ointments from the pantry.”

“But…”

“I care about Rixa, too, Tax. I just need a minute. Go outside and gather some amaranths while I get what I need. Their nectar will help ease his pain while we carry him. We’ll leave in two minutes. I promise.”

While Eleuthereia ran to the pantry, Tuxtax left the double doors of their cottage. He quickly plucked a handful of amaranth blossoms from the vine that adorned their lintel and tucked them behind his ear. His golden eyes darted anxiously around the slopes of his family’s vineyard, then to the road that led from his cottage into town.

His heart raced in panic as he saw the other vanths strolling out of their homes and beginning their day. One of his neighbors waved; Tuxtax flinched. Seeing their strong bodies made him blush; he brought up his hands to cover his human features and raced behind his house to avoid being seen in this form.

Tuxtax hated not being able to shift into his were-griffin form. All of his peers had grown into their adult forms decades ago; they wore their beaks proudly, and showed off their emerald green feather beards to court their lovers. Some of their beards had already faded into bronze, an anatomical display of their lifelong pledge to their mates.

Tuxtax balled his fists in shame. As much as he tried, he couldn’t shift. He was trapped in his human form. Eleuthereia had taken him to every healer in the region, but nothing had worked. After years of embarrassment and shame, he stopped going outside. He spent his days hiding from the others.

And now it was already daybreak; he would be seen by the others in his hideous form as he and his sister brought Rixa home. His cheeks burned with shame, but his best friend needed him, so he had to overcome his own pride.

Eleuthereia returned a few minutes later with a leather satchel slung across her chest. She wore a bullwhip attached to her linen kilt’s belt; she held out a dagger to her brother and bid him, “Wear it. Just in case.”

“Thanks.” Tuxtax nodded and clipped its sheath to his belt.

“Where are we going?”

He pointed to the east. “The grove of Tisiphone. Come on.”

They flew in silence. Once they landed, Tuxtax knelt beside his wounded friend and asked his sister, “Can you help him?”

Eleuthereia bent down to examine Rixa and nodded. “We need to get him home quickly. Can you grab his front half, and I’ll grab his hind legs? Together we can carry him back home.”

“Aye,” he agreed, gripping Rixa by the waist. “We should hurry—I don’t know who attacked him, or if they’re still nearby.”

As Tuxtax lifted is friend in his arms, the semi-conscious centaur whimpered, “Rhea!”

* * * *

Tuxtax held Rixa’s hand as he watched him struggle to regain consciousness. He and his sister had spent the morning caring for the unconscious centaur’s wounds. Once they carried him back to their cottage, they piled a half dozen mattresses together in their atrium to create a bed large enough for their friend. They smeared his cuts with ointment and bathed the blood from his ruddy fur, then spent the long morning waiting for his condition to change.