Geralt’s monster glared at Nestor when he opened the door. Again, he was struck by those amber eyes. Suspicion glinted in them and her feathers began to ruffle at the sight of him.

“Hey, easy mamas,” Geralt said, patting the creature’s neck. “It’s just Nestor.”

“She really does not like me,” Nestor said without breaking eye contact once. “Maybe I should just go.”

“Come here.” Geralt grabbed Nestor’s arm and pulled him closer to the creature. “Just quit staring at her.”

Something in Nestor screamed at him that the moment he broke eye contact would be the same moment he’d find his arm in the griffin’s sharp beak. Still, he forced his gaze to the side. No sharp talons raked across his chest, and his arm remained attached to his body. Good signs.

“See, that’s not so bad, is it?” Geralt asked happily.

The griffin growled.

Nestor dared to glance at her again. She had stopped staring at him, glancing at something just behind her. Three sets of eyes peered out from a pile of fluff. One pair of eyes blinked and a tiny griffin emerged from the pile. It charged Geralt and latched onto his pant leg, tiny growls emanating from the little monster.

Geralt grinned and scooped it up. The little gray and black griffin began to chew on his finger.

“This is Zephyr,” he grinned. “He’s got spirit.”

Zephyr chopped down a little harder and Geralt winced. “Here, pet him.” He held the baby griffin out to Nestor and Nestor nearly took a step back. It stopped trying to eat Geralt’s hand and regarded him through the same amber eyes his mother had. The same mother who was now growling a little more insistently.

“Easy mamas,” Geralt said, not at all bothered. “Here, Nestor, I think we need to introduce you.”

“We’ve been introduced.” His voice came a bit higher than intended and he cleared his throat.

Geralt rolled his eyes and took hold of Nestor’s wrist. “This is Nestor, mamas. He won’t hurt your babies. Now,” he said, lowering his voice. “Do not jerk away.”

“What?” But Nestor was already too late. Geralt firmly pressed his hand against the griffin’s deep mahogany beak. Some part of him had been expecting something rough and cold, instead, it was smooth and surprisingly warm. Nestor nervously glanced up and found his own apprehension reflected in the griffin’s deep amber eyes.

“Talk to her,” Geralt urged. “Let her know you don’t mean any harm.”

“Right. Because she speaks English so well.”

Geralt just shrugged.

Nestor drew in a deep breath and meant the griffin’s gaze once more. “Hi,” he said softly. "I'm not here to hurt you."

She snorted. It didn’t seem quite aggressive, maybe tolerant? Or maybe she found his choice of words stupid.

“There, see mamas? He’s ok.” Geralt backed off, going back to the little griffin.

Nestor glanced back at the griffin and slowly took a step back. She snorted again and settled down at the edge of the room.

A soft churring sound came from below and he glanced down to find another one of the griffin babies staring up at him with dark, almost black eyes. It was a soft cream color, save for some brown markings around the eyes.

“Well go on,” Geralt encouraged. “Pet her.”

Nestor sighed, realizing that Geralt would not be satisfied until he pet at least one of the babies. He reached down for the creature, half expecting it to bolt away. It didn’t. She stared at his hand for a moment and then thrust her head into it, still making that churring sound.

“She’s so…soft,” Nestor realized. Slowly, he scooped up the baby griffin. She didn’t have feathers yet, just soft down that blended into her fluffy cream colored fur.

“That’s Myrsky,” Geralt said approvingly. “She’s not quite as lively as her brothers, but, well, just look at her. She’ll sell fast once we raise them up a bit.”

Myrsky nestled into Nestor’s chest and he felt a sudden pang. “Won’t they still be too young?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Attached already, huh?” Geralt asked knowingly. The last of the baby griffins had sat up and toddled over to him. This one was a deep russet, similar to the mother. Unlike the mother, it had bright green eyes.

“And you’re finally awake, Vindyr,” he said while reaching out to stroke the little griffin.

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Myrsky made a soft chirping sound and began picking at Nestor's shirt collar.

“Hey, cut that out,” Nestor scolded her. She looked up at him, her black eyes seemingly huge against her little face. She nipped at his finger gently and churred.

“What did I tell you?” Geralt asked.

Nestor looked up to see his friend clutching both of the griffin babies while leaning against their mother. The mother watched on, no longer on edge.

“Baby griffin therapy is just what you needed, am I right, or am I right?”

“There is no world where I inflate your ego further.”

“Oh?” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll have no trouble handing me Myrsky.”

“I’m also not doing that.” Nestor settled down on the ground with the baby griffin. She had fallen asleep and was making light snoring sounds as he stroked her soft body. How was anything allowed to be that fluffy?

The moon was beginning to rise over the city spires when Nestor finally slipped out of the ship. It shone in the silvery light, being lent an almost ethereal glow compared to the usual bright glare it had in sunlight.

Sneaking back into Skystead proved to be much easier than sneaking out. The rest of the crew hadn’t been using the gates everytime, and Elijah had pointed a way in that involved climbing a tree and slipping over the base wall. Apparently the guards in that area could never be bothered to look up.

He leapt silently from the tall pine to a neighboring rooftop. There had been something else he was supposed to do…what was it? His eyes strayed to an empty market stall. Sylvie’s pumpkin!

He walked briskly by, snatching a plump one away from the barrel after glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Skystead’s constables really needed to step up their work. Or maybe not. If they got too good, Nestor and the crew would have a rough winter.

Climbing a steampipe while trying to keep from dropping the pumpkin was deceptively difficult. He nearly dropped it when he pushed his way through the loose window pane, but he and the pumpkin made it safely through.

He sat there for a moment, feeling prouder than he should have. It was just an oversized squash. Sylvie--

“Get out!” a voice screamed from below. A very familiar voice, twisted in rage and fear, but recognizable nonetheless.

Another voice answered Slyvie’s, a low rumble that he couldn’t make out the words to.

Nestor’s blood ran cold. Someone was down there. Someone was down there far past closing. He threw open the attic hatch and slid down the ladder, not bothering with the rungs on the ladder.

Sylvie stood between the divide of the shop and the living space. Standing in front of her was a man Nestor didn’t recognize. A tall, somewhat stout man with flushed cheeks.

“Where’s ta’ cash, girl?” his words were slurred and he swayed on his feet. Even a way off Nestor could smell the reek of alcohol on him.

“You can’t have it, Henry,” Sylvie spat. She squared her shoulders and glared up at the man. “Come back when you’re sober.”

The man struck with more speed then Nestor would’ve thought possible in his drunken state. The thud of flesh on flesh rang out as the back of his hand made contact with Sylvie’s face. “I need tat money!” he bellowed.

For a split second, everyone was silent, then two things happened. Nestor shouted at the man as hot rage boiled up and out of control. He forgot his need for a weapon, forgot that the best thing to do in a combat situation was to utilize surprise, but before he could take a single step forward, that dull thud rang out again as Slyvie sent her fist into the man’s stomach with all the force she could muster.

He was sent reeling backwards, knocking Slyvie’s current automaton project to the floor with a flailing arm. Rage bubbled up in his eyes, startling green eyes that flicked to Nestor.

“Leave!” Sylvie snarled at him again.

The man’s eyes didn’t leave Nestor’s.

“You heard her,” Nestor said, barely keeping from launching himself at the man. “Get out.”

The man snorted and stumbled out the doors. The bell rang hallowly as he stepped out and Nestor let out a slow breath.

“Sylvie? Are you--” he cut off as she slowly turned around.

“I…I hit him back,” she said in a tiny voice. Tears flooded her emerald eyes and she stumbled suddenly. “Nestor…I…I hit him back.”

“Who was that?” Nestor asked. He glanced at the shop doors, terrified he’d see the man’s face peering through at them.

Sylvie shuddered and sank down to her knees. “My--my uncle,” she whispered. The first tears broke free as she looked up at Nestor. “What did I just do? He’ll be so much worse next time!”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” Nestor said immediately. He took her hand and sunk down to the floor with her. “We’ll alert the constables.”

Sylvie gave a bitter laugh and shook her head. “He’s my legal guardian. They can’t do anything. Skies above, the money is his. I should’ve just given it to him.” Her voice broke at the end.

“He’s done this before?”

She nodded sullenly. “It’s not bad if I just do what he asks…I got carried away…we need that money.”

Ignis’ fieriest skies! What was he supposed to do to fix this? There was one way…no. He shoved the thought down. Focus on Sylvie for now.

“He won’t be so bad when he sobers up,” Sylvie was saying softly, almost to herself. A red mark was becoming more and more evident across her face. “Maybe he won’t even get drunk for a few days, that should buy me some time.”

She was wrong. They both knew it. Did that man have keys to the shop? An angry drunk was bad, but a half sobered one? Nestor shuddered. Maybe if she slept in the attic?

“Let’s not stay here tonight,” he said.

“I…what?” Sylvie asked. “I can’t leave the shop.”

“Why not?” Now that he had said the words aloud, they felt like the right ones. “It can handle a night without you.” And hopefully a couple of days too.

She tilted her head, considering. Good.

“Come to the airship,” he pressed before she could say anything further. “When else will you be able to say you were on an actual pirate ship?”

She snickered in spite of herself and he felt his heart soar. Laughter was good, try to keep it going.

“There’s some really soft baby griffins too. Geralt is right, you need to see them.”

“Fine,” she said faintly. She cleared her throat and a bit of her usual spark entered her eyes. “Take me to this pirate ship.”