Rukhgert Stern examined the work he left for later and went out into the evening. Sunlight had already acquired a light golden hue and shone through the young spring greens that barely swayed in a light breeze. With a sigh of pleasure, the sixteen-year-old griffin unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, rolled up his sleeves and went for a walk. Being outside, griffin felt himself wonderful after the cold stone building where the alchemist’s workshop was located. A warm and unstable wind gently ruffled feathers on his head, stroked his bare yellow hands, called for him into the mountains. The griffin turned his imaginary wings to the wind and closed his eyes in pleasure. The wind blew more insistently towards the mountains.

‘No, not today,’ Rukh answered to the wind and followed the sun towards the city.

He was forbidden to go to the mountains. But no one restricted to go to Otherkin and find out if there are new guests. The guesthouse was not empty anyway - climbers, gliders and alpine skiing amateurs, writers and artists, musicians and poets came to Bergenburg - and now, thanks to the opened gates, they will be able to arrive faster, because there are such gates in different parts of the planet.

Will there be guests from other worlds? That was what worried Rukhgert most of all. Countless worlds waiting for their Author to be found, written, sung, painted, or simply exist in someone else’s fantasy. What if you can get into world like that?  The world where you managed to travel only through your favorite books? What will such a world really be, will a guest be accepted in that world?

Sometimes fantasy painted a different picture behind amber eyes: someone very similar to Writer’s character comes out of the gate. Someone beautiful, intelligent and not belonging to any of the species living in the Common world. It would be great to bring such a guest to Writer, get him out of Otherkin’s attic and introduce him to the brainchild of his own imagination. Let the character tell his story in person, let the tailless one record it, communicate with the character, look at the character’s adventures, and be filled with inspiration. Sometimes Rukh fantasized on this subject, and once Writer himself said with a smile, ‘I would like to see Carroty in Otherkin, bring me her if you can!’

With such thoughts, the griffin entered the city, and after several turns collided with a young man.

‘Oh, I'm sorry...’ both said and stared at each other.

 The tailless man turned out to be lanky and skinny, like Rukhgert himself. As Rukh could judge the age of tailless ones, this lad as young as himself. But something was strange. Obviously, the man was a stranger - shoes of different tailoring, faded and worn blue trousers, a black jacket rolled up to the elbows, and a beige shirt also rolled up under it. A vaguely familiar amulet dangled on a string on his chest. Steel bracelet on the left wrist with an octagon of a watch. Pale skin, bluish-green eyes, narrow face, a bronze pile of curly hair in the evening sun gave a person the resemblance to a dandelion.

The man also stared at the griffin - yellow arms bare to the elbow and black-red-brown fur. Movable triangular ears with dark spots, dark brown beak, eyes with a huge amber-colored iris without a hint of whites. The feathers similar to wool on griffin’s head. Despite the coolness, the griffin was dressed in light clothing, and had sandals on wide paws. Noticing the stranger’s posture, the tailless one gave himself a mental kick and squared his shoulders.

‘I'm sorry,’ the griffin said, raising his hands to his chest level.

‘It's fine,’ the man answered in Common language and mirrored the gesture.

‘Something was wrong in the stranger’s speech,’ thought Rukhgert, ‘his nose twitched when speaking as funny as noses of all tailless people, but the words seemed to sound not quite the same as they were pronounced’.

Rukh waved his tail and already wanted to go further, but the man turned to him again:

‘Sorry, but could not you tell me where I can stay here for the night?’

‘I’ll even guide you since I was going in that direction. My name is Rukhgert, if you are afraid to twist your tongue trying to pronounce it, you may call me Rukh.

The tailless one had already offered his hand but froze with his mouth ajar.

‘Wait, this thing must distort the words somehow,’ the human grabbed the amulet on his chest with his left hand, ‘can I remove the translator from my neck, and will you repeat the name? So I will say mine without distortion. Funny, I even started a story where there was a hero with your name, if I heard it right, it and a similar place...’

‘Rukhgert Stern,’ the griffin answered, beginning to get annoyed by the person’s excessive talkativeness.

‘Author,’ said the man in warped Common. It sounded more like “Aftar”. The man put the amulet back on his neck and added in a clean Common, shaking a scaly hand: ‘Nice to meet you, Rukh’.

‘Uh ... have you been named Author?’ - surprised Rukh.

‘No, my name is Aftar. Not the word "author" at all, you see?’

‘In the local language, it seems very similar. But yes, nice to meet you too, Aftar’.

?hey walked in silence for a while. Rukh looked down at his feet, and Aftar looked around. He did not stare, only watched passers-by as if he had never seen pangolins, felines, or itas, but tried to be polite and did not gaze openly at those around him.

‘Tell me, Rukhgert; is there an old fort somewhere near the city?’

‘No, there is not, as well as the need for it. Except for those structures that role-players built last year.

‘Wonderful. Like a remake of CS map,’ muttered Aftar.

‘What?’

‘You know, I started writing a story not so long ago about your namesake, the sorcerer’s nephew, which found a passage between the worlds. This passage was on a mountain, near his village or town. The dragons guarded the passage, but that Rukhgert (by the way, he was skinny like you, since I deducted him from myself), went into the caves between the worlds and got into trouble there...’

Griffin's paws bowed. So many coincidences, it cannot be true! For himself, Rukh decided that if he will ever meet in person the characters described by Writer, he certainly would not let them to be acquainted. The feeling was not pleasant at all.

‘That Rukh was a human, like me,’ Aftar went on, ‘and there was a world of people around. From which the guy wanted to escape, made friends with dragons... and then somehow I ran out of ideas, and I was distracted by something else.’

‘This is only a coincidence, Aftar,’ began Rukh, ‘even though the strange one. This world has a long and amazing history; it is more than the town you made. Bergenburg and its environs stood here before your birth. Just a coincidence, nothing more.’

‘Really? Is there no poplar forest around? Like the old fort, is it only in my fantasies?’

‘What is the name of the uncle wizard in your story?’ the feathered one asked tensely, afraid to get an answer.

‘I don’t know, I didn’t think of it. The story, after all, was about Rukh and his blond-haired friend Zack’.

‘This cannot be true,’ the griffin told himself, ‘it’s someone’s mockery. Did Aftar take a walk around the neighborhood and found out some facts about Bergen? Such a young strange man cannot create the whole world, can he? What if he will grow up and write a book about this world? What if folks in another world will read it and dream of getting into a fairy-tale world, as I dreamed, reading famous authors?’

‘Let’s change the topic. We almost came, here it is, guesthouse Otherkin. Tell me, have you moved to this world long ago?’

No, just this afternoon. Descended from the mountain, admiring the scenery. And then I began to wander around the town and came across you’.

The guys stopped at a large two-story log house. Both wings of the building turned away from the street, forming a closed courtyard, and the house itself did not huddle along the road. A terrace was attached to the house. A green hedge was planted along the road, it was currant bushes and gooseberries. The slopes of the tin roof were red in the sunset, and the gutters seemed to be musical instruments. The house stood on the outskirts of the town, there was enough space around. The guests enjoyed the evening: some of them walked, some sat and talked to each other in small groups. Aside, they played ball. Someone sat on the terrace and played board games, and someone even climbed onto the roof with a tablet and pencils and drew there.

‘Hi people! Meet another guest,’ Rukhgert waved his hand at the mottled company on the terrace and turned to Aftar, ‘the entrance over there, let’s go, look for the hosts’.

‘Hey, feathered,’ someone called the griffin from the terrace, ‘come play with us, we are about to finish the game’.

‘Thanks, but don't wait for me if I won’t come back in time.’

Rukh turned to Aftar and observed a slight perplexity on his face.

‘What's wrong?’

‘Rukh ... they called you a feathered one, and you are good with it? Isn’t it offensive?’

‘Why would it be offensive?’ Rukh raised his eyebrows and pricked up his ears, ‘I am a feathered one. Sometimes they call me beaky, which is also true.’

‘In my world, calling someone based on appearance is expressing contempt.’

‘Are you all sophisticated and call each other by inner qualities or something?’

‘No, we seem to just like to express contempt.’

The griffin opened its beak, but froze, bending one ear to the back of his head. Then he waved his tail and cracked his knuckles. After communicating with some individuals, it is difficult to restore reason. However, Rukh had the experience, he could digest Aftar’s behavior. It remains only to find Uncle Sasha or Aunt Lida, then leave the person in the guesthouse.

 

***

The sun was setting, and late spring evening hugged the earth with a cool damp embrace. Bats came, following the rapidly gathering twilight. They rushed feverishly in the dimming sky but did not pay attention to the dense clouds of mosquitoes that curled around passers-by. The griffin and the tailless one lowered their sleeves, raised their collars, but could not cope with the bloodsuckers.

Slap.

‘Twentieth’.

Clap.

‘Eighteenth. Bare-skinned people are tastier’.

‘That’s because I sweat. Mosquitoes like wet skin.’

‘You have a hood, it’s easier for you,’ said Rukh, shaking his ears frantically, ‘and your life is easier, you won’t overheat in the afternoon’.

‘But I'll freeze at night,’ Aftar walked, stooping and clasping his crossed hands to his chest, ‘you puffed out under your shirt and got warm. I also have hair on my arms and legs, but that doesn't count’.

‘Winter wool has already peeled off from me, so do not compare. I just walk outside more frequently than you do, apparently I got used to the coolness.’

Slap.

‘Twenty-two. And one is shell-shocked.’

‘Unfinished ones does not count’.

The hosts of the guesthouse were not at home. Uncle Sasha was fishing this evening, and Aunt Lida was in the sauna, so Rukhgert did not get rid of Aftar, and they walked around the city to pass the time. The griffin could not climb into the network of caves between the worlds himself, but no one forbade learning the news first hand. However, Aftar could not tell much. Yes, he left the cave. Yes, they gave him an interpreter and ordered him not to let it go, if for some reason he needed to remove it from his neck. Yes, it was a dragon and a draconid, but he did not remember the names. No, they didn’t process him with sanitizers.

‘Why?’ surprised Rukh, ‘what if you brought here some disease?’

‘Unlikely. It remained in the body, and I’m here. I remember that I was sick, lying at home with a fever. I raved. It felt like I was torn apart, and my lungs were itching. I kind of even left the body, or it seemed to me this way. Then I fell asleep and ended up here. Now I remember about the caves, but I can’t understand the fact I should remember dragons… is this a memory of a past dream, or is it the plot of a new dream? Funny huh?’

‘Tailless, you're fooling me.’

‘I am only aware of myself in a dream. If this dream is shared with someone else, then for me it is a step to a new level,’ Aftar shrugged, ‘since childhood I wanted to have common dreams with any of my friends.’

‘Go to the place where the sun does not shine!’ the ears of the griffin rose, and the tail straightened, ‘at the first place you declared this world is written by you, then you say that you are sleeping, and you dream about all of this. What is next?’

‘And then,’ Rukhgert suddenly heard the familiar wizard's voice, ‘he will take off the amulet and wake up.’

‘Uncle Evor?’

A light brown griffin came out from behind the turn, and a large winged shadow of the guard appeared behind him.

‘Young man, you have to go home. Glant... will lead you to the Gate and beyond. As of you, Rukhgert, you’ll need a clear mind tomorrow morning. In your shoes, I would not postpone sleep until dawn, even if you have a day off tomorrow.

Aftar looked around, sighed, and offered his hand to Rukhgert.

‘Bye. Hope to see you again.’

‘See you later,’ the griffin answered.

‘Goodbye,’ the tailless one said to the wizard, after which he nodded to the dragon.

Evor gently nudged the frozen nephew.

‘Come on. You have many questions, but I have the answers’.

 

***

Two griffins walked through the night town. The lights had already gone out - everyone except the astronomers went to bed. The light was dimly lit in some of the windows only, and a couple of people wandered around the streets with a guitar, quietly fingering the strings.

It is not true that griffins cannot whisper. Of all the species that live in the Common, griffins have the best control over their voice and can reproduce almost any sound of someone else's speech. It's just that their whispers turn out loud, and when they need to speak quietly, griffins speak rather than whisper.

‘Uncle Evor, who is Aftar?’

‘How do you understand this yourself, Rukhgert?’ the wizard tilted his beak to Rukh.

 ‘I do not know. He believes that he is sleeping, that he once wrote our world. However, we talked, and he does not know many details and composes many extra things, although he turns out to be right in some details. He knows me surprisingly well, apparently, because we are alike’.

Rukh accidently kicked a pebble with his sandal and it rode along the road. In the thickening cold darkness, the stars lit up brighter. A Bicycle is over there and An Anchor is next to it, its arrow points to the axis of rotation. Alpha Lunar is now shining brightly in the western part of the sky, above the mountains. After a few hours, the sky will turn around its axis, and the entire constellation stretched out in a graceful bend along the firmament, will disappear from the eyes.

Rukhgert stopped at the ditch, and the thick spring rumbling of frogs enveloped him. Like a cat's rumbling, it calmed and gave some of its own wet and cold comfort. The sky above his head winked faintly, and it seemed like you could stand forever - time would freeze for you, and there would be no business and no problems.

Evor touched the young man staring at the stars and nodded to move into another street.

‘Well, cannot be Aftar the creator of our world? Maybe he wrote our lives, our town, and is planning to write even more? Do you remember what needed to open the gate?’

‘I’ll definitely ask him to get a notebook and write something to make it happen right now. Let’s check then who he really is,’ Rukh ruffled up a little more than he was, ‘but the thought that there might be someone who invented all this unsettles me. That I am not myself, and that my achievements, victories, my failures are just a whim of some muddy person who is not entirely happy with his life. It cannot be true. Whoever he is, he is most likely a simple person’.

 

***

A man walked alongside the dragon along the field. The first stars shined in the sky, and so far, it was not clear where any constellations were. The suddenly awakened wind seemed wild. It did not play with man’s hair but threw itself in the face. Like a beast, it flew from the back, struck from the side, and climbed under the clothes with cold paws. And sometimes it seemed that the wind was just running away from someone, not rushing, but accidentally hitting; not creeping under clothes, but timidly seeking refuge and protection from warm hearts...

‘Autumn wind,’ the dragon said into the night, stepping on the dry grass of last year, ‘it is not in time’.

‘Not autumn,’ the man replied, ‘autumn smells of growing emptiness and sadness, but in this one, the emptiness is leaving. There is the expectation of color and light and the earth. The earth is so fragrant only in spring, and in summer, when you dig it up’.

Aftar looked at his feet, looked around. He looked at the starry sky without the moon in a sight, at the dark outline of the mountain, where the entrance to the caves was located, again under his feet, at the long dry grass laid on the ground.

‘Strangely, the field on the slope is still gray-dry, although green leaves have appeared on the trees a long time ago’.

The winged one turned his head on a long neck and grinned.

‘You know the wind better than the local plants and the laws of nature. Bergenburg is famous for a wide variety of herbs, trees, and shrubs of different worlds, among which there are many rare, healing, or simply useful. There are different seasons and climates at different heights of the mountains; it helps to grow different plants. There is still early spring, lower on the plateau it is closer to summer’.

The grass rustled under the legs and feet. The man did not really distinguish where he was placing his feet, but that did not bother him. It was a dream. A dream in which he realized that he was sleeping, but not destroying the world at his discretion. Instead, he simply followed the plot, enjoyed it, ready to respond to any turn of events.

For the dragon, it was a job. At the beginning of the shift, he saved Rukhgert Stern when he entered the freshly opened gate and went to wander with a friend through the cave system. At this time, all the guards of the segment were very busy - armed people got into their network of caves without invitation. Now Glen was leading home the first guest from another world. All he had to do was take him through the network of caves to the new gate to the Homeworld, and tomorrow evening everything will be ready.

However, Aftar did not get home that night.

 

***

At night, Evor was unable to get to the dream server and connect through it with the rest. Glen didn’t answer directly either - apparently, he hadn’t slept yet, and Bound and Rayavartiyat were on a day off. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, the wizard gave himself the command to wake up tomorrow at dawn and fell into a dream. If there is no change, follow the plan.