The paper felt smooth in his claws. It was a thick and soft parchment the type only nobles used. It seemed heavy, and as his eyes read over the note it only became harder to hold.

Dear Esteemed Subject,

Under the protective gaze of our majestic realm, it is with urgency that I, Gann Ljun, write to you on behalf of his royal and opulent majesty, Prince Ġiovanni Ajkla. This letter herby summons you to the royal court on the 15th day of this present month. Your presence is essentail to discuss a mater of utmost importance. It is his high graces beleif that your unquie talents make you indispensable to the task at hand. I trust your will heed this call without delay, so that we may countine to forge a golorius future for the relam and its inhabitants.

On behalf of his majesty,

The Royal Secretary, Gann Ljun.

Gori liked the Apple’s Eye for one simple reason: it was quiet. The old bar-and-hotel was far from the center of town and so saw very little foot traffic. Outside of a few regulars, the place was almost always empty and those few griffons who came here were the sort to mind their own; even as the old dark wooden doors groaned when he entered, no one cared to turn their head, nor did they when the rusted legs of the bar stool screeched against the wood as he went to sit down. Not even the old bartender would say anything, only giving a silent nod of acknowledgement and pouring a glass of brown liquor in front of him. The alcohol itself was cheap and watered down, and it sloshed lazily in his cup. With any luck Gori would be able to enjoy this drink, then head upstairs to sleep and be gone by the morning. However, Gori was not a lucky griffon.

George was a tall and hardy griffon. Half eagle and half lion, he stood a head and shoulders over everyone else in the room. He had a handsome dark face with a creamy-brown crown. Each step of his heavy yellow legs caused the floor to creak in protest under his immense weight. With a dark claw he hailed the barkeeper down before turning his large bluish-gray beak and squalling out ‘Gori!’ as he lifted his wide wing and rested its white underside on his shoulder which Gori promptly brushed off. ‘I do not know how you can stand this place; it stinks.’ George said, waving a talon in front of his nose as if swatting away the offending smell. A smell that Gori was more than used to. A noxious mix of opium smoke which rose and seeped into the moldy wood. ‘George,’ came Gori’s curt reply, not bothering to look at or even motion toward him instead taking a sip of his cup. George gave Gori a look and as the old griffon returned with his drink, he downed it in one go before asking for another. ‘Will you go see your mother?’ he questioned, ‘she has been writing, you know?’ George said accusingly, but with a look that said he already knew the answer. ‘No,’ replied Gori, still not turning his head, and taking another sip of his drink. George let out a long sigh before downing his newly refilled cup, ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘We will not talk about your mom or about how you left for three years without so much as a word. Instead...,’ he motioned a claw toward the door, ‘...I have something to show you.’ George gestured again with his head for Gori to follow him as he began to leave his seat. ‘Why would I follow you?’ Gori said finally finishing the drink he was nursing, downing the rest with a gulp. George gave him another look before chuckling to himself, ‘Why? Are you having too much fun drinking alone like some bum? You owe me this much after the way you left; it is either this or I tell your mom you are in town.’ Gori groaned aloud but got out his chair, leaving a few coins on the counter and following George out.

Gori was significantly smaller than George was and came up to about his upper chest. Gori was half hawk and half puma. His smooth white feathers became black around the neck like a collar and his tan fur was smooth and slick. His wings were a rusty chestnut speckled with black. Despite his stature, he was incredibly strong, and his muscles were well defined and taunt. He always carried a sabre on his waist whose shiny metal hilt was well kept and polished.

They exited the bar together and took a right down the dirt street and walked until they were a good distance out of town and into the outskirts. The entire time neither said a word; although George would often look back to make sure he was following, and every time would open his deep beak as if to say something before shaking his head and continuing. This would happen three or four more times before eventually they stood in front of an old overgrown farmhouse on top of a small hill. The roof had caved in at the center and the walls turned black from the mold and were drooping. The dusty windows were cracked, and sharp glass spilled out onto the grass outside as if they were broken from the inside. Tall weeds sprouted from the yard with sharp pricks. ‘Here we are,’ George said before stepping over the glass and pushing his way through the door which hung loosely on its hinges, ‘mind the glass.’ He said from inside. Gori looked at the building and hesitated, ‘If you are planning on killing me, I can think of a better place for it!’ He yelled into the house, George only laughed from inside, the foundation shaking alongside his booming amusement. With a quick look around Gori followed him into the house.

The inside was surprisingly clean – or as clean as it could be considering the overall state of the place. Most of the debris had been picked up and piled into a corner and the floor had been swept and mopped. The little furniture that was still inside the home was free of dust and remarkable intact when compared to the rest of the house. The place was dark with long shadows which poured from the corners as if trying to swallow the place in their shade. The only light came from the gaping hole in the ceiling and a solitary candle that drooped to the side and sat on a table in the center of the room. As he made his way further into the house the floorboards creaked and bent under him as if they were going to snap apart at any moment and judging from the numerous holes in the floorboards they had before.

George sat hunched over in a corner, his beak opening and closing as if he were talking to someone, but Gori could not see past his broad frame. Stopping, Gori said threateningly; ‘If you brought my mother out to a place like this just to ambush me, I swear I will claw your eyes out.’ Again, George let out a loud laugh before standing and turning to reveal a young fledgling who was veiled by the long shadows and sat curled up huddled in the corner. Gori fought the surprise from reaching his voice, ‘Who... who is that?’ He asked the words tripping out of his beak. ‘The thing I wanted to show you, look,’ George gestured for him to come closer. Gori gave him a look of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but nonetheless made his way over toward the boy. Once he was close enough, George yanked on the metal chain that was encapsulated around the fledging’s neck eliciting a pained squawk from him and pulling him into the light.

The young griffon was half eagle and half jaguar. His face was gray with black feathers on the crown. He had dark wings, that mirrored his fur, with a white underwing. His reddish beak was large and hooked and his largely white legs had black stripes before becoming yellow at the feet which had long sharp talons. His time here, however long it was, had not been kind. His feathers had not been preened in a while and were matted and thick with dirt and dust while his fur was patchy and rough. ‘Is he not a pretty one?’ George said as he brought his dark foot to the young griffon’s wing and carefully but sternly opened them up, ‘Look at this wingspan! No doubt he was the talk amongst all the hens back home, eh?’ Under all the grime it was undoubtable that he was a very attractive griffon and his wingspan, especially for someone so young, was indeed impressive. Gori thought as George continued to poke and prod at the young griffon, who sat reserved and limp in his grasp like a doll and made sure he pointed out every detail he could to Gori.

‘George,’ Gori had said apprehensively which caused the Griffon to stop and drop the fledgling who would fall with an unceremonious thud, ‘what do you want form me here?’ Gori asked. George gave him a look as if he had not understood the question before he erupted into laughter. He turned away from the child and walked over toward Gori and said: ‘What do you mean, is it not obvious? I want you to buy him from me.’

Gori took a step back as if he were repulsed by the statement. ‘Is this what you been up to since I left? A slaver?’ Gori spat on the floor as if the word had tasted fowl in his mouth. George laughed and sat down in a chair next to the table. ‘Do not judge me, someone had to take care of your mother, and unlike you I could not just abandon her.’ When Gori heard that he raised a pale gray talon on the hilt of his sword and give an angered squall that rang off the walls while rearing up on his hind legs. ‘Be as angry as you want…,’ George started, undeterred by the show of force, ‘…it is the truth, that is why it pains you so much to hear.’ Gori gave him a look that said that he would like nothing more in the world than to run his sword through him but nonetheless relented and took a calming breath while he gave a look at the hatchling. Despite the disarmed and reclusive demeanor he had, the fledglings striking red eyes eyed him with sharp suspicion. ‘Even if I were the type to buy a slave, why would I? I am neither a trader, a noble, nor a plantation owner. I have no need of one.’ George gave him a smile of someone that already knew that they had achieved what they wanted, ‘because you owe me and owe your mother. She needs the money and I need to offload him,’ said George who grabbed a bottle of liquor from under the table and took a drink. ‘Why me? Surely there are better places to sell a griffon.’ Gori prompted. ‘Sure, there are, but the truth is I am new to this, and I do not trust myself to take such high-grade merchandise to the markets.’ Gori eyed the fledging again, ‘where did you even get him?’ George shook his head, ‘Does it matter?’ He stood up and walked over toward Gori, ‘you will buy him and then he will no longer be my problem…,’ he paused and rubbed his chin as if thinking of something, ‘…200 muniti’ Gori gave a dry laugh, ‘200?! Who do you think I am, Guze Bres?’ George rolled his eyes, ‘I know you have it, what else are you spending it on? Not your family for sure; look, you can kill him after this for all I care, but for once support the ones who helped raise you.’ Gori tonged the roof of his mouth before kissing his lips. He looked at the kitling who still sat motionless in the corner, his red eyes boring into him. ‘Fine, but do not bring this shit to me again.’ With a thunderous laugh that shook the house, George poured him a cup of liquor before he tipped the bottle upward and swallowed the rest.

Author's Note

Like I said, I am new to writing in general so please leave your thoughts and feedback!