sight of their injured friend on the
hard, sandy ground, Caeo and Mesd hurriedly rushed down to help
him. “Look! His paw! It’s in the wrong place!”
How were they supposed to heal the poor,
young griffin while—at the same time—steering clear of trouble? The
plan to do anything of the likeness was foiled when—without
warning—Carpla stepped behind the two griffins, investigating what
had caused the loud thump.
A shock ran through the two griffins’ bones
at the sight of Molar’s father. Nervously, Caeo came to be the
first one to speak to Carpla. “H-how did you get here?” he
stammered, his bones still as ice.
A pause occurred just before Carpla responded
coldly, “I was just about to pick him up—but now I have to pick an injured griffin up.” As he bent over and picked his wailing
son up off the ground, Mesd and Caeo fearfully backed away. He then
slowly walked home, not speaking a single word to Molar or either
of his friends.
Mesd and Caeo exchanged shocked glances as
they watched their friend’s father leave short-lived footprints in
the sand. All the while did they both hear their friend’s cries
spread through the air.
Time seemed to move as slowly as a turtle’s
pace in Molar’s mind. The pain he had felt made him seem somewhat
dizzy. He barely noticed his father’s ash-like hands curling around
him as though Carpla were carrying a human baby. Such a thought
made him feel puny.
--
After what felt like a century, Molar heard
the creaking of his father’s opening front doors. His dizziness
almost completely faded away, Molar felt a carpet’s fabric tickle
his injured paw. With a quick glance did he realize both he and his
father were inside. Once he was gently placed on the carpet in his
father’s antique room, he took a look up to see Carpla standing
over him—a blade in-hand.
Looking down at his front paws, Molar heard
Carpla calmly ask him, “What were you doing there?” He was too
ashamed to reply, but he knew his father would grow even
angrier—and such was the case when Carpla yelled, “Answer me!”
“I was trying to fly,” sighed Molar,
embarrassed by his own foolery.
After a pause, Carpla gave a shake of his
head. “Why on Mocrano were you trying to do that?” he asked
irritably. He then took notice of Molar’s best response: a shrug of
his shoulders.
“Well,” Carpla continued with a sigh, “You’re
just going to have to stay in this castle until that paw is
healed.” With those few words, he turned around and strode out of
the room—leaving Molar to lie alone on the itchy carpet.
Molar could not stand having to remain cooped
up in the castle where there was nothing fun to do. He would rather
go outside and fall off the same cliff he’d just injured himself
with—but this time would he deliberately shatter his cranium! Only
a few heartbeats had passed when Molar’s injured paw caused boredom
to rain over his entire being.
Sighing, Molar began to regret having ever
made the attempt to fly before he was ready. He should have known
that it would have only caused him to hurt himself; how could he
have not seen this coming?
Within moments did the boredom he’d brought
to himself caused sleep to start swelling in his head. As such a
notion took over his mind, Molar had forgotten about the pain in
his paw while resting his head upon it. Very slowly, he noticed a
dream fade into his mind.
--
Time had passed—time brought changes—and
change brought Molar’s wings to the height of their strength. His
paw had fully healed, and his wings were ready to bring his feet
from the ground. Finally Molar would be able to do what he had
attempted with his friends so long ago—and he would be able to
leave without a broken paw.
Right at the brink of dawn did Carpla come
marching into Molar’s sleep. Upon waking up did he resist the urge
to yawn—as he was afraid such an action would hurt his chances of
taking to the sky today. It was before actually preparing
hard, sandy ground, Caeo and Mesd hurriedly rushed down to help
him. “Look! His paw! It’s in the wrong place!”
How were they supposed to heal the poor,
young griffin while—at the same time—steering clear of trouble? The
plan to do anything of the likeness was foiled when—without
warning—Carpla stepped behind the two griffins, investigating what
had caused the loud thump.
A shock ran through the two griffins’ bones
at the sight of Molar’s father. Nervously, Caeo came to be the
first one to speak to Carpla. “H-how did you get here?” he
stammered, his bones still as ice.
A pause occurred just before Carpla responded
coldly, “I was just about to pick him up—but now I have to pick an injured griffin up.” As he bent over and picked his wailing
son up off the ground, Mesd and Caeo fearfully backed away. He then
slowly walked home, not speaking a single word to Molar or either
of his friends.
Mesd and Caeo exchanged shocked glances as
they watched their friend’s father leave short-lived footprints in
the sand. All the while did they both hear their friend’s cries
spread through the air.
Time seemed to move as slowly as a turtle’s
pace in Molar’s mind. The pain he had felt made him seem somewhat
dizzy. He barely noticed his father’s ash-like hands curling around
him as though Carpla were carrying a human baby. Such a thought
made him feel puny.
--
After what felt like a century, Molar heard
the creaking of his father’s opening front doors. His dizziness
almost completely faded away, Molar felt a carpet’s fabric tickle
his injured paw. With a quick glance did he realize both he and his
father were inside. Once he was gently placed on the carpet in his
father’s antique room, he took a look up to see Carpla standing
over him—a blade in-hand.
Looking down at his front paws, Molar heard
Carpla calmly ask him, “What were you doing there?” He was too
ashamed to reply, but he knew his father would grow even
angrier—and such was the case when Carpla yelled, “Answer me!”
“I was trying to fly,” sighed Molar,
embarrassed by his own foolery.
After a pause, Carpla gave a shake of his
head. “Why on Mocrano were you trying to do that?” he asked
irritably. He then took notice of Molar’s best response: a shrug of
his shoulders.
“Well,” Carpla continued with a sigh, “You’re
just going to have to stay in this castle until that paw is
healed.” With those few words, he turned around and strode out of
the room—leaving Molar to lie alone on the itchy carpet.
Molar could not stand having to remain cooped
up in the castle where there was nothing fun to do. He would rather
go outside and fall off the same cliff he’d just injured himself
with—but this time would he deliberately shatter his cranium! Only
a few heartbeats had passed when Molar’s injured paw caused boredom
to rain over his entire being.
Sighing, Molar began to regret having ever
made the attempt to fly before he was ready. He should have known
that it would have only caused him to hurt himself; how could he
have not seen this coming?
Within moments did the boredom he’d brought
to himself caused sleep to start swelling in his head. As such a
notion took over his mind, Molar had forgotten about the pain in
his paw while resting his head upon it. Very slowly, he noticed a
dream fade into his mind.
--
Time had passed—time brought changes—and
change brought Molar’s wings to the height of their strength. His
paw had fully healed, and his wings were ready to bring his feet
from the ground. Finally Molar would be able to do what he had
attempted with his friends so long ago—and he would be able to
leave without a broken paw.
Right at the brink of dawn did Carpla come
marching into Molar’s sleep. Upon waking up did he resist the urge
to yawn—as he was afraid such an action would hurt his chances of
taking to the sky today. It was before actually preparing
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