The morning was comfortable. Her den was toasty warm, thick with familiar scent, everything within a wings reach and yet not too close. With the dire winter piled outside, it was easy to understand the allure of hibernation that other predators enjoyed. The griffin rumbled softly, curling closer to the small human trapped beneath her wing.
“You’re faking it,” Ollie murmured, one finger scratching at the thick feathery ruff of her neck, “Come on, lazy bones- it’s like noon! Noone needs that much sleep.”
“Busy work. Tired wings.” She retorted in a quiet growl, shifting so his hand scratched her wing’s shoulders. They felt dull, but better than the burning ache she’d gotten last night flying home from the stables. That had been simply exhausting, especially after a full day of labouring under Leah to haul hay and help house the herbivores. Saturdays were shaping up to be a pain.
But today was her day.
“Kiddo, you decent?” Three small knocks came from Pa at her door, “Breakfast is all ready. An’ some other stuff too.”
When she didn’t respond like an eager dog, Ollie reported, “She’s awake, she’s just brooding.”
Karen grumbled at his snitching and pinned him with one wing. Then Pa stomped in, sunlight dazzled her, and his strong callused hands freed the boy. “Huh, all tired out kiddo? Well, guess that means more breakfast for us, eh Ollie?”
The bluff threat was funny. A trilling growl escaped her as Karen reared and barreled into Pa, embracing him with all the might of a seventeen year old griffin. Her sire grunted, struggled and staggered with a, “Wow, no, Karen, stead-eeeeeee!”
Then she brought him down, leaned in and settled her head against his chest with a proud pur. “My food. My day.”
“Calm it, kiddo,” He grimaced as she butted him, grabbed at her beak and pushed her off. Her tail flicked as she shoved back eagerly, only for his palm to rap her back three times. “Karen! You’re not a cub, are you? Well you can’t be rough-housin’ your old man, I can’t take falls like you can.”
“No claws.” She argued, wings shuffling as she backed off, but his brows stayed knotted. So she gave a gentle quiet chirp, one only family knew. “Love you.”
“Yeah, love ya too, kiddo. But breakfast is cutlery, not raw stuff, so you get changed.” He stood with a grunt.
“My day.” Karen countered, leaning closer, “It is my day. It is my way.”
“Karen.” Pa blocked the door, gripping the wall in case she tackled again. “Please. For your mother, an’ me, huh? We wanna… see your face, hear your voice, share a table an’ presents with our girl, huh? You can always go fly later.”
* * * *
Mom fixed her with a stern look. “Karen Emily Thomson.”
“What?!” She pulled the chair back and perched on it, tail looping around her waist. “I changed.”
Her mother’s little wrinkles, almost invisible to human eyes, deepened as she looked over her feline tail, scaly fingers, furry toes and feathery ears. “You were doing so well this week.”
“Yeah, for school. I can relax at home, right? It is my birthday after all.” Karen scritched her chair close, admiring the birthday breakfast- pancakes, bacon, lorne, even some little cocktail sausages and raisins!
“I’d hoped you could maybe put the effort in for some photographs- you know, for posterity, and for the family.” Mom wasn’t giving up. Why should she? It was her day.
“Sure, first birthday as a griffin. I can swap into a dress or my sari if you want?”
“You don’t want to try shifting again? Do it perfectly?”
She gobbled down a rasher and pretended to consider it, tail flicking behind her like a metronome. “Hmmm…do I want to endure magical torture twice more today? No. I’m comfy. You can take pictures of griffin me too- you know, show me off.”
“We can do pictures whenever.” Pa weighed in diplomatically. “Maybe a nice school picture tomorrow, eh dear? Show ‘em how close Ollie is to overtaking her.”
“Uuuh, no he’s not.”
“I’m already taller than her!” He shouted from a pile of wrapping paper she was supposed to ignore.
“No you’re not.”
“Am too- you can’t stand on hindlegs for long, so that doesn’t count.”
Karen blinked at him, and popped another sausage away. “Fine. Taller than me half the time. You’ll always be my little brother.”
“Younger!”
She turned away, there was no use arguing with him, and a small child-like part of her didn’t want to see whatever present he was wrapping. The rest of her gifts were almost more tempting than food, a bigger pile than she’d even expected. Maybe going missing had earned her more sympathy from neighbours and family friends this year, or maybe seventeen was a bigger milestone that she’d thought. She was basically an adult after all, seventeen was practically eighteen. And she’d made some new friends too, of course.
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Breakfast turned into a more settled affair, as Mom gave up on trying to convince her and Karen acted like she’d meant to only shift partially. In truth, she’d been too excited to manage her simulacrum properly and slipped up, distracted by imaginings of breaking deer and devouring goat. Not that the crispy hot breakfast was unwelcome, but how could it compare once she got to eat her own kills?
Birthdays were perhaps a microcosm of that. The young got to rip open their delights, scattering thin wrappings for the meaty treasure inside. Not that any of her presents actually contained meat- but they were great all the same.
One was a small wooden griffin carving, tiny, regal, and painted in vivid UV tones to match her actual patterns.
“Eda did the painting,” Ollie informed her proudly, “I did the bulk of the work- whad’ya think?”
“It’s actually perfect.” She admitted, turning the carving over, “How’s it look to your eyes? Right colours?”
“Nah, just kinda wild and splotchy. We couldn't figure out how to make it grey.”
“Aww, thanks!” Karen hugged him, smirking over at her Mom. “Such a good thing I chose the right eyes this morning, huh?”
Thankfully that comment didn’t cost her the rest of her presents.
Some were most mystical or strange in nature- a UV photobook from Olive’s family, a new CD of Avian translations from Diana (and Sera), and a spare little Veil flask for emergencies. Others were more classical, like hiking boots, spare clothes, even a super soft sweater that kept toasty against the cold. And of course, some were designed for a griffin- a sling shot fetch thing from Logan, a new scratching log in the garden, and a bag from Alastair, designed with straps to hook over her wings easily on or off. He called it second hand, a relic from his mom, but Karen cradled the soft old leather smugly- few things were designed by griffins for griffins, and it certainly explained why he’d asked for her address.
Almost last came a big present, nearly as tall as her, it’s form obvious even through wrapping paper. The electric guitar was a shock of black and neon blue, shaped like a sleek ax, but already stringed and set up as she fiddled with it eagerly. A matching box, a speaker for it to plug into, unleashed the rumbling metal tones through the whole house as Karen giggled.
CLACK-Chik!
“There- that’s a good picture,” Mom checked her camera as the flash faded. “Want to get one of you with everything?”
“That’s not everything,” Karen let her excitement shine through, “I should do the cards too, right?”
“Wow, she’s turned into a boring old lady!” Ollie gasped as he fiddled with the slingshot.
“Shut up- I just wanna see, okay? Right?” She begged, and started flicking through birthday card after birthday card. Some had cute designs, some of cats or crows, which was a little rude, and some held pretty vistas. A couple contained dollar bills she squirrelled away, but none were from her parents, none from her family, and none held a Hunting License.
She pondered the discrepancy in puzzlement as Mom took pictures, as she clutched her new treasures and presents, as she tried on new clothes and blew out seventeen candles on a birthday cake. There was one chocolate cake for Ollie and them to enjoy- or her too, if she stuck human overnight, she supposed- and one of suet and peanut butter for her to snack and gnaw on over the coming week. Or days. Or day.
Amidst it, texts came in, happy birthdays from family, from cousins, she hadn’t seen in so long, and schoolmates. Olive and Logan wished her a good hunt, a number that was probably Alastair told her not to overeat, and Maddie requested a meet up by the lake later for her present. That made sense, she still needed to pretend to be on bad terms with the girl, so she packed the new bag with spare clothes, and settled to while the day away on her guitar.
“So. Are ya not thrilled with it?”
Pa settled on the stairs of her den as she strummed the unfamiliar strings, deep heavy sounds rumbling like thunder from the speaker.
“Hm? No… it’s… good. I guess.”
“Not very convincin’, kiddo.” Pa leaned, “You alright? Feelin’ old?”
She scoffed, moving to try the next chord, her claws hooked on the wires, tail flicking. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just seventeen- that’s not even my prime.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not plenty old. I remember that day, first time I met you- even noisier than that guitar, couldn’t believe such a wee thing could be so loud. Kept gettin’ me up that night, but nope, just wanted your Mama, had a real favourite back then.” He smiled faintly, wiping his eyes. “Good taste. Can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”
“Pa-aaaaa, shush,” She blushed, but knelt down to hug him, face buried in his shoulder, “I’m not even full grown yet.”
“Don’t remind me. Gonna have to wear kid gloves around me in a few years.” He sighed, one hand on her shoulders. “But if you ain’t feelin’ down ‘bout that, what’s bitin’ at you? Been a bit mopey?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Is it Maddie?”
“No… I… she’s fine. She just wants to hang out with Logan.”
He looked at her, eyes sharp, “... so…. Communication, remember?”
“Uuuuurgh, fine, it’s just… I thought I was getting something else okay? And I kinda had an idea for today and… it’s different.” She slipped away, turning to try and strum Smoke on the Water. Dum dun dun. Dum dun, da da. Dum dun dun. Da da. “Did… did Ollie talk to you? About what I wanted?”
“Can’t keep a secret, can he?” Pa exhaled, “Yeah, he had some ludicrous price tag for Miss Kingsley’s magic, and said you’d been all about huntin’, worked up about other griffins?”
“Right. So. Yeah. I figured I’d get to go hunting today. That I’d have my licence.”
“Sorry kiddo, but… you’ve got what you’ve got as presents. We picked these out for you- after all, you’ve never been into firearms or nothi-”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Pa, you know I don’t need a gun to hunt.” Karen fumed, turning on her heel. “Come on! Mom talked you out of it, didn’t she? Cos she can’t stand me anymore!”
“Karen.” His voice was a rumble as he stood, “Don’t be unfair to your mother. This has been a lot- and you’ve plenty of fun you enjoy as a griffin, so we decided together that this’d be good to remind you of old passions, not let all your talents fall by the wayside.”
She scoffed, standing on tip-toes, “Hrgh, so just ask what I want so you can ignore it!?”
“And maybe if you were more open an’ direct with us, we’d know what you want.”
“Yeah, so Mom can think I’m even more of a monster,” Karen growled, before taking a deep inhalation, fists balled, “Uuurrrggh, fine. Fine! Pa, can I have a hunting licence?”
His broad shoulders slouched, even as he folded his arms. “If you want one, you buy it. You got money, you’ve got two part time jobs.”
“To pay off debts!” She ripped the guitar off her shoulder, holding it out, “Come on- I barely touched it, couldn’t we refund this? Swap it out!?”
“Karen, that’s your present- and no, no refund, it’s second hand,” He raised his palms, as if fearing she’d smash the stupid instrument. It wasn’t fair! “Look, if you’re that… worked up, maybe we can grab a mouse, and at christmas figure out th-”
“A mouse!? Pa, I’m seventeen, that’s like a pacifier!” She bartered, “Besides, they’re like five dollars, it’s a waste- I mean, imagine how much less food you’d have to buy if I could hunt? I know I’m not cheap, it’d save you money. Pa!”
“You went and looked at ‘em?” Pa noted, carefully setting the guitar down to set hands on her shoulders, “Karen. You don’t need to be thinkin’ like that- you’re not a burden, and you’re not a wolf, you can’t be killin’ game every couple nights. You’re a person, you’re my daughter, and we can handle feedin’ you.”
“And I’m a griffin, Pa- I’m literally made to hunt!” She struggled, trying to shove him back with only the heels of her hands, careful with claws, “Get off me! I’m fine!”
“No you’re not!” He snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet. His were reddish, shimmering with colours, worried and concerned and looking down on her as he choked out, “You’re not a killin’ machine, Karen, you’re our daughter, there’s so much mo-”
“Oh yeah?! Anverath!” She snarled, embracing the pain like a tidal wave. She pushed and Pa was shoved back as her body barreled out, her wings flared, tearing and splitting her new purple sweater with feather and fur. For a moment she saw Pa hesitate, the word Denrol on his lips- and what happened if the change was stopped partway through? She’d never thought to ask, but for a split second fear coursed through her mind, and the logical method to make sure he couldn’t speak crossed her mind.
The griffin screamed and barreled back, but no word came. She landed gracefully on all fours, new outfit ruined and tangled across her hide, and a pang of guilt crossed her heart. Which only fuelled her temper.
“I go fly. Is my day. My day! Stormwing griffin! I fly!”
Her sire looked at her as if she’d clawed him. Ridiculous, she’d been gentle, she’d talked, it wasn’t fair!
“No huntin’. No runnin’ off. No hurtin’ people.” Pa’s voice sounded hoarse, heavy on her back, “This ain’t a game kiddo, you understand!?”
She arched her back to tear the irritating fabric away, hooked her new bag onto her wings, and ran her beak along her haunch as the door rumbled open. “Scar. Bug. Yes.”
Then the cold stung her talons and the wind licked her feathers.