The train was not going to arrive.
My. Fucking. God.
Sitting down dramatically on the cement block like bench of this fuckass train station, she started dangling her legs aggressively as if to make the point that even her feet were faster than this good damned locomotive.
After about thirty seconds of angrily kicking the air with her steel-capped leather boots, she lost sight of the stained gum that someone had left as their mark on this beautiful outdoor train station in the middle of nowhere tucked between Slovenian Alps and deep forests.
Her eyes scanned the dark green area around her, the only thing not colored like a poor man’s army uniform was the cement-gray platform she was now sat on. Even the bench had surrendered to the wilderness and was now covered by dark-yellowish moss that was weirdly wet. (Something she only had realized after sitting on it for far too long.)
A shiver ran down her spine. Partly from disgust, partly from the menacing atmosphere the landscape around her created with every passing moment. The sky was slowly darkening, leaving a yellowish flickering light bulb hanging from the old wooden sign bearing the name of the station in antique lettering that reminded her so much of her late grandfather’s handwriting.
She could almost see the little flick he had always added to the final glyph of each word.
She truly wished, that it had been just her mind, tricked by the sleepiness and cold creeping up her heavy bones. That this whole ordeal was just a long feverish dream, that her strange and terribly boring grandfather had not left her a huge piece of European forest with a matching alpine farmhouse that he had kept a burning secret from everyone.
Even as his granddaughter, she had thought that he probably passed without ever setting foot outside of his beloved summer estate in Cornwall, let alone England.
But apparently the ninety-seven year old had been somewhat of an adventurer at one point, before the dementia had taken his fragile mind a few years ago, just as she had started studying magizoology after finishing her sixth year at Hogwarts.
And while her stubborn father was completely shocked by the sudden cancellation of his plans for her, her grandfather had been a vivid supporter of her decision. A few months after the diagnosis he had told her how incredibly proud he was of her choice.
„Not each of us Nightingales is made for politics. Sometimes I wonder what I would have become had I gathered the courage to decide for myself. You will aid many forgotten and unknown, darling, just know it.“
It must have been the last clear thing the loving old coot had said to her. Only thinking about the words brought a tear to her glassy eyes, which she decided to blame on the biting wind, that just started up.
A strange wind, she thought.
A wind, accompanied by the sound of ginormous wings flapping, almost like a landing dragon.
Her head whipped around in distress, recalling the protocol for encounters like these into her memory.
Too late.
And wrong creature.
In the sickly glow of the lantern stood the proud silhouette of a huge fucking griffin.
Its wingspan was colossal, spreading from one edge of the rails to the other side of the platform she had been sitting on, now having jumped up and awkwardly standing in a halfhearted fighting stance.
Her body was trembling, whether from fear or the bone-chilling cold, she couldn't say. Her mind was racing, trying to remember what she learned about these creatures two years ago, when she had taken a course about griffins during her studies.
Sadly, she had somehow passed the course without attending more than three times or even reading the recommended literature.
(In hindsight, it had honestly been a miracle she even graduated - she had been high for two-thirds of her academic career.)
Suddenly, as if to announce its arrival the griffin let out a small but loud screech reminiscent of the sound of a broken car horn.
It then slowly lowered its head, making her cautiously step back, in case the beast was preparing for an attack.
But instead of the anticipated jump or flashing of talons, there was just the sound of a deep voice "No trains today?"
Sliding of the griffin's back was a young man.
He softly ran his hands over his steed's neck before stepping into the scarce light of the singular lantern.
The first thing she noticed was the red hair that fell softly over his ears and covered most of his neck in an unruly way as if it hadn't seen a brush or a proper haircut in over a year.
It was the color of fire, deep auburn mixing with lighter, sun bleached streaks, peppered with some burned black tips.
Underneath the slightly overgrown bangs flashed kind eyes, which were watching her intensely, but not in any malevolent way. Rather as if she were a wild creature to be observed.
"Not a woman of many words, are you?" he chuckled softly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Just as she had done, his eyes scanned up and down her form, stopping shortly to take a glance at the oversized „Led Zeppelin“-Shirt she wore, the only thing keeping her upper body warm. (Who would have guessed it'd be this cold in the middle of May?)
Somehow she felt naked beneath his watchful gaze. As if all the emotions and secrets she was so used to hiding behind a stern facial expression, now lay in front of her, ready to be inspected by this odd stranger.
Before the guy could make another joke at her expense, she gathered herself and stuck out her chin.
“My parents always told me to be wary of strange men in strange countries. For all I know, you could be a murderer.”
While she spoke, his smile widened into a small grin.
“No plans to kill you, sweet cheeks. Just here to fetch you from the station.” he said, gesturing to the huge birdlike creature behind him.
“Fetch me?” Her gut twisted uncomfortably. How had he known she was coming? The only person she told was her eighty-six-year-old grandmother, who had pressed her to visit this godforsaken forest in the first place. Her heart started to pound louder and faster, slowly becoming the only thing she could concentrate on as the gnawing feeling of hysteria settled in her stomach.
“How did you know I’d be here? And who even are you?”
Her words sounded shakier than she would have liked. (So much for keeping her poker face.)
“Well, I’ve been told by your grandfather that his darling granddaughter would inherit this place, and that I should be expecting her around two weeks after his uh… passing.” Both him and I grimaced at the word, a bitter reminder that he was no longer with us, but the stranger quickly continued. “And regarding myself, I am somewhat of a caretaker for the sanctuary, have been for the past year actually. Basil hired me right aft-”
“Wait, Sanctuary? I thought this was just some boring piece of land?” Her face contorted in confusion as her mind tried to comprehend the new information, she had just learned.
“Yeah, this is the largest magical wildlife refuge in Europe. Your great-uncle, who built this place, was one of the most famous dragon keepers in his time, so don’t try to act like you didn’t know-” He stopped after seeing her shocked expression and his eyes lit up in surprise.
“Holy shit! You really don’t know, do you? And I thought you were just a bit slow, but you genuinely don’t know.”
She must have looked like an idiot, standing there wide eyed and open mouthed as if the stranger just revealed himself to be Spider-Man. Her thoughts seemed to never get a break, running through her head like racing horses. Her great uncle had been what? She didn’t even know she had had a great uncle, always assuming her grandfather had been an only child. Not only that, but he supposedly had worked with dragons?
And who the fuck was this random guy telling her all this five minutes into their first meeting? Why was she even believing him? He must be confusing her with someone. Or lying.
Yeah, he probably was a prankster from the local wizard town about ten kilometers from here.
Who happened to run across a domesticated griffin. And spoke perfect English with a soft hint of a Devon accent. And was now watching her with a very sympathetic and concerned look on his face.
Pulling herself together she shook of the first shock and tried to concentrate on the important facts.
“As far as I am aware, neither my grandfather nor grandmother ever had brothers. And while I do have a great-aunt called Meredith, I believe she’s currently residing in her peaceful home in Kent and has not even seen a dragon in her life. For God’s sake, the woman is deathly scared of lizards, not to mention dragons!”
While talking, her confusion had turned into a frenzy, her breathing had quickened and she tried to calm herself down.
But to no luck.
“My whole fucking family are boring government officials with a bigger stick in their arse than the fucking mansions they own. And you are trying to tell me about a supposed mystery uncle, who no one ever mentioned to me and whom I have never, never seen anywhere?”
Stopping to take a deep breath, her eyes zeroed in on the now very scared man in front of her.
“And you! Who do you think you are, coming here and telling me this shit? Is lying to strangers who just suffered a great loss fun to you? Holy mother of God, what kind of stupid, insensitive twat-”
“Wow, calm down!” The ginger’s demeanor had changed, his face now stern and his gaze had hardened. His afore chill and calm aura had quickly changed into a more menacing and grave attitude.
Fixing his posture, he was now looming over her in the dim lantern light. She had never been a small girl, often taller and bigger than her classmates, but next to him she felt oddly tiny. (Which she did not enjoy while being angrier than a screaming baboon.)
He continued: “It’s not my fault you’re family never told you shite about your ancestry. Don’t blame the messenger for delivering a bad message.” Running his hand over his face and mumbling to himself, he added:”This is really not my day. Why did Trev have to give me this fuckass job?”
After a few seconds of tense silence, the man clapped his hands together loudly.
“You know what? This is not my tale to tell. I’m taking you to the manager. Trevor can deal with this.”
Who the fuck as Trevor, she wondered. But before she could even open her mouth, he had already turned towards the griffin, which stopped pecking at the yellowish moss from the antique sign and had lowered its neck for the stranger to climb on top.
Sitting on the creature’s back, he nodded his head to the left, signaling her to join him on his beastly ride.
Slowly, she approached them, one hand firmly on her backpack’s red shoulder straps, the other held out towards the griffin so it would be able to take in her scent. Sniffing softly, the bird let out a small coo and closed its eyes, encouraging her to pet its golden beak. (Which she obviously did. Who would decline that offer?)
The stranger was watching her closely before holding out his hand, probably to help her up, but she ignored him, still filled with a bit of anger, and just swung herself onto the griffin’s back behind him. Luckily, and thanks to the many, many horse riding lessons in her youth, she knew how to do this without needing any help. Sadly, and thanks to the sixty liter travel bag on her back, she miscalculated her weight and almost fell of the other side, if it hadn’t been for the stranger’s shoulders, she instinctively grabbed. So much for being an independent bad ass…
“You alright?” “Yeah, just go.”, she answered with red ears, which turned much redder, when she had to grab his shoulders even tighter as the beast took of with the two on their back.