“I have never seen a black griffin before,” said the yellow griffin. “Is this your home?”
The black griffin glanced back at the valley. “My land,” he said.
The yellow griffin was looking at his forelegs. “Are you wild, then? I do not envy you.”
“Wild?” the black griffin repeated.
“You have no human,” said the yellow griffin.
“Human?”
The yellow griffin sighed and sat back on her haunches. “By the sky, are all wild griffins so slow?” She spoke again, very slowly, emphasising each word: “You are wild. You have no human. I do.”
“What . . . human?” said the black griffin.
“A human is an animal. Small. Weak. But clever. You know, clever? Wise. Cunning. Intelligent.”
The black griffin thought suddenly of the things that had taken Saekrae. “Human speak?” he ventured.
“Yes. They speak griffish. They made the Eyrie.”
“Human fly?”
“No. Only when we carry them.”
The black griffin was appalled. “Carry?”
“Yes. On our backs. Here.” She lowered her head and showed him her shoulders. There was a patch of flattened and broken feathers there. “My human sits here.”
The black griffin peered at it. “Where . . . you human?”
“He is at the Eyrie,” said the yellow griffin. “I came here alone.”
“Why you come?”
“I am ready for mating,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have come to find a male griffin to father my eggs. I have found you. Do you have a mate?”
The black griffin did not understand. “Mate?”
She was looking at him very closely. “Am I the first griffin you have ever seen?”
The black griffin had a vague idea of what she meant. “This my land,” he said. “Me here. No griffin. My mother . . . go.” After that he fell silent, almost exhausted from the effort.
“So you have no mate?” the yellow griffin pressed. “No eggs? No chicks?”
“Chicks dead,” said the black griffin, remembering his siblings.
“Then you will mate with me?” said the yellow griffin.
“What mate?” said the black griffin. He was desperate to understand, and angry with his own ignorance.
The yellow griffin seemed to sense it. “All creatures know,” she said. “I will help you.” She came toward him, moving slowly and with grace; he could see the muscles flowing beneath her tawny fur, and the perfect flexing of her limbs. He sat still and let her come to him, and she lifted her beak toward his, tail flicking, and purred deep in her chest.
He scented at her feathers, taking in the sweet, spicy aroma of them, and she chirped and nibbled delicately at the little tuft of feathers under his beak. He lifted his beak and moved his head closer to hers, wanting more. Encouraged, she moved alongside him, pressing her body against his, and began to groom his hindquarters.
He sensed that he should do the same and began to run his beak through the feathers just behind her wing, a hard-to-reach spot. She crooned and circled around him, nuzzling the nape of his neck. He pushed back, and the two of them groomed each other more and more vigorously, growling and crooning by turns.
The black griffin’s heart was pounding. He did not understand what this thing was or what it meant, but something deep inside him did. He felt hot and confused, but strangely certain at the same time.
“What is this?” he asked.
The yellow griffin rubbed her head against his. “You like it?”
The black griffin closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes.”
“Then do what feels right,” she said. “Like learning to fly.”
And he did. Part of him was confused, even frightened, but the much stronger part of him wasn’t. He pushed and nuzzled at her, growling with a strange almost-aggression, and she turned, tail raised and twitching, beckoning to him. His instincts took over and he dug his talons into her shoulders. She kept still, wings shivering, and they mated, the quick, savage mating of griffins. The yellow griffin screeched and pulled away when the climax came, but she returned shortly thereafter, as the sun went down, and the black griffin was not afraid any more.
The two of them slept curled up together, neither one noticing the cold wind that blew over them.
When morning came both of them sensed that their time was ending. The black griffin wanted to go back to his home, and the yellow female was restless for her own territory. But they stayed together a little while longer.
“I do not envy you,” the yellow griffin said. “You are part of a dying breed. One day there will be no more wild griffins left.”