I used to remember my home. I used to remember my parents. I used to remember having friends. Years ago I was taken from my home, to some griffin training camp out in the desert. Now I can't remember how sunshine feels on my coat and mane. I can't even remember my name.

I am beaten almost daily. I have lost count of the scars etched in my skin. Maybe one day I will be set free, but for now, I hang from the ceiling of my stone cell and the chains are digging into my fore legs.