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When the sun rises the air is at first cool and calm, fresh like dewdrops in emerald grass and sweet like the ripened apples that fall from laden trees. It is still, much like the snow covering the top of a mountain or a hidden forest pool, deep and clear or torrents. But as the flaring orb rises high in the sky it is as if though the winds awaken, comes out from their nest among the clouds and begin to play. There is naught but a breeze at first, taunting and playful, the kind that brushes against your cheek but when you turn your head it is gone. Then, slowly, like the tuning of a great orchestra you can hear the faint sighing of the trees, the grass bows in a first greeting to an invisible audience and birds begin to stir among the branches of the canopy. It is now it happens. Like someone stirring in a giant kettle, heated air slowly rises from the warm ground, traveling in spirals toward the endless heights until it cools, looses its power and falls, tumbles to the ground to begin the cycle anew.
As the light grow brighter and the shadows thin out, the chirping of busy birds slowly penetrates the veils of sleep and rouses the sleeping beast, not so much gently as persistently. He tries for a while to ignore the cacophony of the small feathered ones, but after having several nuts dropped on top of the large head by hard working squirrels, he sighs dejectedly and reluctantly open the large, yellow eyes. For a moment blinded by the brightness of the day, he remains still in the shadow beneath the thicket and watches the surroundings until the colors return in proper sharpness and opacity. Then, with a yawn that forces the heavy beak wide open the magnificent beast rises and slips out of the shade where he have been resting. Sunlight glitters on inky fur and feathers as he stretches, long legs and a furry tail almost dragging along the ground before he sits down on feline haunches and begins to prune the feathers of wings and chest.
He had arrived late the previous night, tired and somewhat lost after getting caught in a storm high above the ground. Forests like this one weren't ideal resting places, but he had been too weakened by the struggle against wind and rain to seek out rockier terrain. Now that the day had arrived and he was mostly recovered, however, it would be prudent to seek out proper shelter, and perhaps something to eat. Hunger gnawed at his insides and was ignored, as was the insects that busied about in front of the great talons that pierced the earth and the cautious little rodents that watched him with worried wet eyes before scurrying past, not entirely sure that he wouldn't try to eat them. They needn't worry. It was too much energy to hunt down little mouthfuls like them, it wouldn't fill his belly and only served to deplete his already waning power sources. No, what he needed was something of a larger size, like a fawn or small deer, or perhaps a young foal. Judging by the large amount of tracks that littered the ground there were plenty of horses in the area, and while they were difficult prey to catch it was well worth the trouble. A young one would feed him for a week, if not more.
It remained to be seen what he would find. For now he would focus on the most important thing at hand, namely sorting out the tousled feathers and the tangled fur in a proper manner. It was prudent that he keep himself clean; it wouldn't do, no it simply wouldn't do to go hunting with burdocks in the tail. It would be unsightly, if not even an insult to the prey. Thus, the black griffin remained exactly where he were in the small clearing, paying little to no heed to any of the comings and goings around him. He'd have time for that later, when the wings were done.
"blah blah blah."
Rymn
Awake, listening to the voice of my heart,
I precede through the Pandora world
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