Days bled into nights, and her memories faded like mist drank up by the time that kept acting like a drunkard wanderer that people could see only once. A young master would visit, his presence fleeting but constant, teaching her the delicate art of taming Griffins and using her healing magic.
One crisp afternoon, after a long flight across the skies, she stood in a sun-drenched meadow bathed in autumn's golden hue to catch a breath and enjoy the scenery, gently stroking the feathers of her brown Griffin. That was when she saw it, something dark slicing through the distance. Her Fae eyes narrowed. Massive black wings were flapping, heading her way.
"A Dracon," she whispered, her breath catching. "Finna, let's go."
She vaulted onto Finna's back and crouched low, glancing behind her. Her heart staggered in her chest. The creature was closing in, fast and colossal, with jaws big enough to tear Finna in two.
