The humans stand before him, the male wearing his confidence like a cloak. The Nest Kin watch from assorted roosts, some waiting among the trees ringing the glen.

"Taryn amd Lynn? Over the centuries those names have been used by many of Highland Nests. How do I know these are of the Tavish Hills?"

The Gargoyle settles back, wings flexing slightly in the intermittent breeze.

The male, Traeger, considers a moment, then asks if he may make a call. When Crag nods, he speaks quietly even though he knows his words are heard by all. When he finally clicks the cell closed, his expression is guarded. Crag waits in stoney patience.

"My daughter asked her sister-in-laws what else I may tell. They are very private women, so what I say of them is only with their permission." Crag nods slightly. His respect for the human slipping up a notch. "The elder sister has eyes of emerald green, that flicker with flame when angry. The younger has eyes paler in hue, and was still a child when they left. They are musicians who left to satisfy a need to learn. One did a favor for a Brownie, earning her a set of Fae pipes. They were later tricked away from her keeping by the same Brownie. Another Brownie has recently restored them to her.

For six years, before they left the Highlands, the girls kept a cottage on the edge of the woods. They called it Haven. Many villagers gathered there in the evening to play music. If the villagers ever wondered about them, it never came up. When they left, they made a point of going through the village. This way no one questioned their disappearance.."

Crag flexes his wings slowly. "And tell me, when do they plan ta come hame?"

Traeger shakes his head slowly. "I have no answer to that. I know the males of their Nest have taken wives. The girls say they have no intention to leave the Nest or Kin at this time."

The Gargoyle's eyes narrow. "Hame is where they belong, back among the cliffs of the Tavish Hills." His wings fan slowly, his tail sliding along the ground.

"They are grown women, I understand, no longer children in the eyes of the Kin. Is this true?" Crag's features set into sharp ridges. Traeger takes this to mean it is true. He sighs, letting his guard down so the Gargoyles can feel his empathy. "I have a daughter, grown to womanhood while I was gone. If I had my way, she would still be coddled and kept protected from the world. But... she is grown, Her decisions are her own. She has made choices, and I must respect her wishes."

The Gargoyle lowers his head, bringing his eyes level with the Witch. "An this pertains how, exactly?"

"Are the sisters your daughters?" He laughs, the rumble causing a small slide of stones in the upper peaks. "My daughters? Goddess be praised, NO!"

Snickers echo around the glen, quieting as Crag stares at the assembled Gargoyles. "They are Kin. They are female and unattatched. As such, they are to be watched over by the Elders and Guardians. They were ever headstrong and disobedient."

Traeger hides a smile. "Ah, then you know the sisters, and they are of these Hills?" Too late Crag sees the trap. "You are as devious as all your Race, human. That is one reason we no longer work hand in hand with your kind. Another is our unwillingness to become slaves to any spellcaster. Many take without giving in return. Take your clay. But remember this... If you return to these hills, you bring the sisters with you. If they are unmated, they stay. If they are mated, we will know if the mating is untrue. If untrue, they will stay."

There is the sound of great wings beating and small clay bricks are stacked in front of Traeger and the female Witch. Crag looks at the Witches.

"It is dried, but retains the same qualities as when wet."

Kin lift into the air, some scrabble up the bare sides of the hillside. Crag's wings spread, catching the breeze. The downdraft of his wingbeats blows the humans' hair back from their faces. As he hovers above them, the impressive gargoyle utters one more warning.

"Tell Obsidian and Bloodstone that if they do not care for my little sisters as they should, I will seek them out." He flexes his hands, talons glittering in the setting sun. "Yes... I do know them, very well. And I remember the males who formed a nest with them. The Wandering Minstral and the Melancholy Giant. Wish my sisters well... for now."

Crag tilts his wings, catching an updraft, and is gone.

The humans had pushed their way around Crag as he blocked the path to the sacred glen. The female had remarked, in soft Eirish burr, about the remarkable look of "humanity". The male had probed him with a spell and smiled.

Once they were past, Crag had listened to them, they had collected silk from the stream and banks, commenting on the properties it would give to heal two of the male's extended family group. He spoke as if the two were more of the earth, not quite explaining exactly what he meant. They spent themselves in rutting, and as the sun slid toward sunset, Crag silently rose intending to find out exactly why he "needed" the sacred soils.

Members of the Nest had slid among the trees, watching silently. Crag stood over the nude couple waiting patiently for them to rouse. The female awoke first. She blinked, then bit back a scream. The male surged to he feet, standing protectively over the female. Crag suppressed a smile. Muscular, lean, but still a weak bodied creature to stand against him?

It took a moment for the male to realize they were surrounded. When he did, he relaxed. Relaxed? That in itself puzzled Crag. Humans do not relax when surrounded by Gargoyles. But this one relaxed, even helped the one he mated with to her feet. He murmured something to the she about Gargoyles, Nests, and family ties. When he was done Crag moved slowly, advancing until he was no more than a handsbreadth away.


"What, little man, do ye know of Our kind?"

The voice was smoother than most would expect, coming from living stone.

"What I know, Lord of Mountains, is from the lives of four of your Race, dear to my heart."

The formality of his words spoke of respect and a degree of comfort at being among others not Human.

"Explain."

The male licked his lips, obviously thinking. "My daughter is married to a Gargoyle/Shifter of the Desert. He has three others in his Nest from different lands. One is a full Gargoyle of France. The others are a pair of sisters of Highland descent. One sister was injured in a battle and would have lost her wings. The only thing that saved her was pottery bought on trips to the Isles. The pots were shattered and mixed into clay to pack her wounds. I understand this only worked because the the clays were not all Irish, as I had been told. This trip became vital when my son-in-law was injured severely in another battle. We only saved him through the use of his stone hair since we had nothing else to use to pack his wounds." Tears touch the man's eyes and Crag senses a deep concern for the male's Kin, and something deeper.

The Gargoyle narrows his eyes, giving the male nothing. He is half surprised that the male does not send a spell to probe his response.

"And why should I, or Mine, allow you to take from here?"

The male Witch looks directly into the stoney gaze. "Because the girls are from the Tavish Hills of the Scottish Highlands." Crag laughs. The sound rumbles, echoing as it seems to bounce off the cliffs. It is only then that Crag senses the Witches becoming aware of the Nest and assorted Kin. The female turns slowly. A spell readies, he can feel the energies building, and he laughs harder.

"Little Witch, Ye will not harm us with such spells. Do ye not remember yer own lore? Once upon a time, yer People sought Mine. Do ye remember why?" He doesn't let her answer, instead he nods to a pair of Gargoyles. The two are mirror images, bookends in all ways. between them is stacked Traeger's containers of soil.

"These sisters of which ye speak, an they be Highland born, they hae names We will ken. I would suggest, little man, ye say an' We see."

The man's eyes narrow. The woman is pressed against his back. The Gargoyle can see the shivers she tries to hide. He looks at the pile of discarded clothes and makes a small gesture. "Ye hae such tender hides. Would ye care ta dress?"

There are small rumbles of sound as the two pull on their clothes. The man wraps the blanket around the woman, giving her more heat, more superficial protection. Crag nods slowly. Considerate... Protect the woman and her health, also remind her to hide her casting more carefully. As the two finish covering themselves, Crag stretches out his wings. The others fall silent. It is only then the humans see Crag's true size. Respect and not fear grew in the man's eyes. Crag cocks his head.

"I wait Human. The names."

"The Highland Gargoyles use the names Malachite and Tourmaline. The younger left the Tavish Hills to learn music from mother lands. The elder, to protect her sister." The man pauses and Crag shakes his head.

"The names mean nothing. The sisters sound... vaguely familiar. The story is much the same." He shrugs massive shoulders. "Nests grow too large, Younglings leave." He moves his wings and figures move, clearing the path down the mountain. "The clay stays. At least until ye can prove ta Me the sisters are truly Ours. An they trust ye as ye say, They will gi' ye what ye need." He bows, wings sweeping the ground as he gestures to the path.

"Three days Little Man... Tis the time ye hae ta bring truth. Til then we keep the soil."

The Humans walk to the first turn, then look back. The glade is empty of Gargoyles, and the containers of soil.


Crag feels the sun beating on his back. The broad stone is warm enough for a lizard to lie still, sunning itself. Other small creatures doze in the shade of his half furled wings. The purloined clay, now dried into heavy bricks, lie stacked in the rock crevice blocked by Crag's stone image. His thoughts drift to the names, the vague descriptions of the Gargoyle sisters. Crag remembers heartbreak and pain from nearly a century before....

The man has two more days.

After the humans leave Crag wends his way down the rocks forming his perch. He tastes the magic, letting it slide through him. They will return again. They will not be able to resist. His large form easily blocks the path, keeping casual hikers from entering the clearing. Letting himself go stone, Crag soaks up the glades natural energy. He vows he will be awake to confront those who dare to step within His hills.

The couple made their way along a faint trail, wending their way higher into the hills. Crag settles himself where he can watch. His natural coloring let him blend easily with the rough boulders, as long as he keeps his wings furled tight along his back.  

Witches...

His tail thumps once, then twice. From the mouth of a shallow cave a young female slithers through the rubble  to his side. He glances at her, sending his thoughts in a narrow beam. She scrambles away, circling until the hillside is between her and the humans. Her strong legs shove her upward as her wings snap open to catch the thermals.

Crag turns his attention back to the humans as they spread out a blanket and open a picnic basket. He breathes deep. Meat pies... Meadow tea... Bread and heather honey... The male looks up, glancing around. Crag narrows his eyes, remembering a travelling musician and a young Gar so fascinated she crossed the Channel to trade songs.

He shakes the memories away. What did these do so high in these hills? As the human turns his attention back to his female companion, Crag hunkers down, easing himself into position for a long watch.