On The Wings of a Griffon by Gabrielle Danielle Burnett (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📕
Excerpt from the book:
Youngest of seven, Princess Bain, otherwise known as The Griffon Princess, and her friend, a supposedly orphaned griffon named Thirío, are mischevious from the very start, after he rescues her from a labryth of trees known simply as The Wood. Unfortunately for them, the queen has made the griffon friend of her seventh daughter an enemy. When the queen banishes Thirio for killing a man to protect Bain, she loses her daughter as well. What will the princess and the griffon find on their journey to harmony? Is anything what it seems? Where does the mysterious Thirio really go when he disappears, sometimes for days at a time?
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hair. I’d long since given up the luxury of personal servants when I accepted Thi̱río as a friend and allowed him to live in my chambers and come with me almost everywhere I went.
I would much rather have the griffon around than a bunch of mindless followers. Griffons weren’t trained hounds; Thi̱río wasn’t a pack animal or a tamed wild beast. He was my friend. He didn’t follow my every order like servants were compelled and forced to do. He didn’t fake anything. At least I hoped not.
“I’m decent!” I called vaguely in the direction of the griffon’s private room. A second later and he’d opened the door. I’d always been impressed by the unnatural dexterity of the lion features of a griffon.
Unlike a natural cat’s, the griffon’s paws were slightly longer, and more finger-like, more like a hand than a foot. And he had perfect control over his tail, being able to use it to open doors and latches with amazing flexibility that had astounded me for the longest time. Unlike most myths, Thi̱río’s front paws were those of a lion’s. How could one beast walk on two different types of feet? He’d be so clumsy that no one who feared him now would be even vaguely threatened by the blundering beast. Catlike grace was part of their threatening intimidation.
“It’s about time.” My friend said jestingly, gently nudging me with his head. (Thi̱río had realized when we were younger that even a light nip from his beak could draw blood). There was still one scar under my forearm that resembled a drop (although I wasn’t sure what kind of drop it was, a rain drop, a tear drop, or a drop of blood…I kind of found myself hoping that it resembled more a rain or tear drop).
“I hear that the cook is making her special bacon today,” I informed the hungry griffon and he threw a growl, fake I knew, in my direction. His eyes were laughing.
“Do not tempt me; I might not be able to resist a bite of tender youth.” He mock-threatened me, snapping his deadly beak in my direction. I burst into a fit of giggles, surprising both me and the griffon.
A moment later we were heading out of the door and into the long, winding corridor.
I would much rather have the griffon around than a bunch of mindless followers. Griffons weren’t trained hounds; Thi̱río wasn’t a pack animal or a tamed wild beast. He was my friend. He didn’t follow my every order like servants were compelled and forced to do. He didn’t fake anything. At least I hoped not.
“I’m decent!” I called vaguely in the direction of the griffon’s private room. A second later and he’d opened the door. I’d always been impressed by the unnatural dexterity of the lion features of a griffon.
Unlike a natural cat’s, the griffon’s paws were slightly longer, and more finger-like, more like a hand than a foot. And he had perfect control over his tail, being able to use it to open doors and latches with amazing flexibility that had astounded me for the longest time. Unlike most myths, Thi̱río’s front paws were those of a lion’s. How could one beast walk on two different types of feet? He’d be so clumsy that no one who feared him now would be even vaguely threatened by the blundering beast. Catlike grace was part of their threatening intimidation.
“It’s about time.” My friend said jestingly, gently nudging me with his head. (Thi̱río had realized when we were younger that even a light nip from his beak could draw blood). There was still one scar under my forearm that resembled a drop (although I wasn’t sure what kind of drop it was, a rain drop, a tear drop, or a drop of blood…I kind of found myself hoping that it resembled more a rain or tear drop).
“I hear that the cook is making her special bacon today,” I informed the hungry griffon and he threw a growl, fake I knew, in my direction. His eyes were laughing.
“Do not tempt me; I might not be able to resist a bite of tender youth.” He mock-threatened me, snapping his deadly beak in my direction. I burst into a fit of giggles, surprising both me and the griffon.
A moment later we were heading out of the door and into the long, winding corridor.
Publication Date: 09-08-2010
All Rights Reserved
Dedication:
I dedicate this story to the little wild in everybody.
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