“Get your cloak and come on,” Flell said firmly. “It’s cold today.”
He obeyed and they left the house together. Flell walked ahead, her expression determined, and in spite of his long legs Arren nearly had to run to keep up with her. “Flell, you don’t honestly think I could find another griffin, do you?”
“Why not?” said Flell. “You never know until you try.”
He sighed. “I really don’t know.”
When they arrived at the hatchery they found it bustling as always. Roland, along with two helpers, was in the huge space that housed the adult griffins, replacing the soiled straw and refilling the water troughs. They were working hard and didn’t look around until Flell called out to Roland. Thrain, made nervous by the presence of so many much larger griffins, huddled against her partner’s chest.
Roland came to meet them, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Hello, hello! Good morning, lass, how are you?” He paused. “Dear gods—Arren, is that you?”
Arren nodded, shamefaced. “Hello, Roland.”
Roland looked concerned. “Well, I must say it’s a shock to see you like this, Arren. I’m not entirely sure that beard suits you. But”—he placed a large freckled hand on Arren’s shoulder, nearly engulfing it—“I heard about what happened,” he said softly. “And I can’t possibly express how upset I am. Eluna was—well, she was an extraordinary griffin, just like her partner.”
“Thanks,” said Arren. “I—thanks, Roland.”
Roland straightened up. “All right, you two, you finish up here,” he bellowed to his assistants. “If anyone asks, I’m in my quarters.” He turned to Flell and Arren. “If you’d care to join me, I think I may be able to rustle up some tea from somewhere. Shall we?”
Flell took hold of Arren’s hand as she nodded. “Yes, thank you, Roland.”
They followed him to the main building of the hatchery, and through into the back room that served Roland as a home. He gestured at them to sit at the table, and put down a bowl of strayberries and a pot of tea.
“There you go,” he said. “Some mint tea and strayberries. Nothing better to cheer you up, I always say.” He sat down opposite them and poured out the tea. “It’s not quite as hot as I’d like, but it should do.”
Arren drank gratefully. The sharp flavour of the mint helped to remove the dry, unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Thanks, Roland.”
“Well, well, it’s the least I can do,” said Roland, watching him with concern. “So, how are you holding up, lad?”
“I’ll be all right,” said Arren, reaching for a strayberry.
“I hear you did a magnificent job in catching that griffin,” said Roland. “Darkheart, they’re calling it.”
Arren snorted. “So I heard. Gods, those people annoy me. Darkheart. What sort of a name is that? And they’re happy about how the damned thing crushes people’s rib-cages ? It’s pathetic.”
Roland sipped at his own tea. “Yes, I can certainly see where you’re coming from there. But it does bring in a great deal of, shall we say, revenue for the city, and it creates jobs. People have always been fascinated by violence. It comes of spending so much time around griffins, probably.”
“Violence doesn’t bother me much,” said Arren. “You fight when you need to. But using it as entertainment . . .”
Roland shrugged. “It is thrilling, in a way. So, what can I do for you, Arren? I mean, beyond offering you a few strayberries.”
Arren knew he’d already guessed. “Well, Flell thinks—that is, I think—that maybe I could show myself to the griffins here. You know, in case one of them . . .” He shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Roland looked grim. “Well, it’s not for me to say yea or nay, but I won’t pretend it isn’t a stretch. Griffins tend to—well, try if you must. You never know.”
“There’s something else,” Flell interrupted.
“Yes?”
“Arren needs a job,” said Flell. “And badly.”
“Oh!” said Roland. “Well, I think I can help you there, lad. One of my assistants has moved on to better things—possibly worse, I didn’t ask—and I’d be more than happy to take you on here. Mind, it wouldn’t be very glamorous. Sweeping floors, fetching and carrying, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t mind,” said Arren. He was pleased by this. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask Roland for help, but he was grateful to Flell for coming up with the idea. If another griffin didn’t choose him—or even if one did—working here wouldn’t be so bad.
“That’s excellent to hear,” said Roland. “I admit we’ve missed you here. Haven’t we,