The Griffin's Flight by K.J. Taylor

I could eat ants.”
    Skandar looked at him with an almost fond expression in his silver eyes. “My human,” he said.
    Arren paused in his work and sighed. Skandar wasn’t Eluna, but he cared in his own way. He was self-centred and unpredictable, but he was every bit as loyal as any griffin was toward his partner.
    Arren remembered the night of Rannagon’s murder, when Skandar had come to help him fight. The black griffin had stood between him and Rannagon’s griffin, Shoa, head low, hissing and menacing her. “Mine!” he had shouted, again and again. “Mine! My human.”
    Skandar was looking at Skade. “Human dead?”
    “No,” said Arren. “She’s just sleeping.”
    The black griffin did not look happy. “You help her. Why?”
    “Because she needs it,” said Arren. “That’s why.”
    Skandar was silent for a time. He looked deep in thought. He often looked that way when he was about to say something. His griffish was slow and clumsy, but it was improving steadily. Much of the time he was monosyllabic only because using longer sentences took more effort than he was willing to give.
    “You say—other human dangerous,” he said eventually. “You say, hide. Not be seen. If human find us, they kill you. Kill me.”
    “Yes, I did,” said Arren.
    Skandar looked pointedly at Skade. “She human. She see you.”
    “That’s different,” said Arren.
    “Different?”
    “She’s on her own,” said Arren. “She’s not looking for us. And anyway, she doesn’t know who we are.”
    “She remember,” Skandar said darkly. “She talk. Tell them. They find you. Take you. Kill you.”
    “I know, but—look, if we help her, maybe she’ll help us. She’ll be grateful. You know? I helped you and you didn’t kill me. So it’s the same.”
    “Not same,” said Skandar. “Human enemy. Kill her.”
    “No.”
    “Kill her,” Skandar said again. “You say, kill anyone if they see us. Kill her.”
    “I can’t do that,” said Arren.
    Skandar started to hiss softly. “You kill Rannagon. Kill her like him.”
    Murderer .
    “No, Skandar,” said Arren. “I won’t do that again. Skade hasn’t done anything to hurt me, or you. She could be our friend. And I want to know who she is.”
    “What Skade?”
    Arren nodded toward the sleeping woman. “That’s her name. She told me.”
    Skandar stood up. “If you not kill, I kill.”
    “Skandar, no . I won’t let you.”
    Skandar’s head turned sharply toward him. “Why?”
    Arren moved to Skade’s side, laying a protective hand on her shoulder. “She could help us,” he said urgently. “Don’t you understand? We’re lost, Skandar. We’ve been lost for months. Maybe she can tell us where we are, help us get to Norton at last. We have to get there as soon as we can. If my parents get there before we do, what if they get caught? If the news has spread, they’ll be arrested. Maybe tortured. The griffiners won’t rest until they find me. Find us.”
    Skandar listened. He sat back on his haunches, apparently digesting all this. “Skade help?”
    “Yes. She speaks griffish, Skandar. Like me. She must be educated.”
    “Edu-ded?” Skandar tried.
    “Educated. It means knowing things. She could know things we need to know. Understand?”
    “And if Skade not know? Not help?” said Skandar.
    “Then we’ll leave her. Make her promise not to tell anyone. In return for saving her life.”
    Skandar retreated and lay down on his belly. “I do not like this,” he said. It was one of the first phrases Arren had taught him.
    Arren realised he’d left a smear of sheep’s blood on Skade’s forehead. He wiped it off with a corner of the robe and went back to the carcass. “I know it’s risky,” he said. “But sometimes we have to take risks. We can’t just wander around forever. We’d starve.”
    It took him some time to finish cutting all the meat he could off the dead sheep, and he also took the heart, liver, kidneys and brain. He wove grass into a