The injured griffin was still there, perched on the rock and tugging at the arrow. It let out a low keen. What now? It wouldn’t be easy. There was a reason nobody flew a golden griffin. When Daria’s people had extra fledglings, they released them into the wild. Legend had it that a lost tribe of riders would some day return from beyond the Wylde to fight the dragon wasps. They would capture and tame these wild griffins. When released, the fledgling white-crowned griffins generally flew south along the Dragon’s Spine to nest. A few flew north, but they rarely made it as far as the Wylde. Not only were the white-crowns ill-adapted to the brutal winters of the north, but they were not welcomed by the native animals—the huge, savagely independent golden griffins. Daria had only seen a golden griffin once before today. Her father had harbored thoughts of breeding one of his griffins with its golden cousin—he assured her that the golden griffins could not be tamed themselves—and he hoped the offspring would be as pliable as a white-crowned griffin, but larger, more powerful.
What do You think about The Golden Griffin (Book 3)?
