@@ -103,4 +103,20 @@ But most importantly, the \gls{guard} must venture into wild, and mine it for es
Shepherds whisper these thoughts to themselves as they break a sheep's leg, to make a replacement cripple.
\end{exampletext}
I've never looked at a beast and wondered what goes on inside its head. Like any other sane person, my thoughts are RUN and DON'T SOIL YOURSELF.
Until a griffin decided to make its home in the outskirts closest to my cabin. I tried shooing it away by banging pots and pans, pelting it with rocks, siccing my dog Rolf on it, shooting it with arrows. And the damn creature would just sit there, unfazed.
I even burned down its nest. And the damned thing just perched on the smoking tree trunk!
There was not a slightest hint of upset from the griffin, despite my best efforts. Nothing behind it eyes. It doesn't know past, it doesn't know future, it barely knows its alive, only thing it knows is hunt.
I've seen it with my own eyes, a figure swooping down from the canopy, grabbing some unfortunate small animal with horrific accuracy, and disappearing back into the forest, all in a few moments.
Somehow I got used to all that, over time, and thought we achieved some kind of tentative neighbourly peace. Once Rolf stopped cowering every time we went out, we started going hunting again.
In my foolishness, I imagined it took a liking to me. Instead of mimicking other forest dwellers, as griffins usually do, it immitated me - sounds of me playing the flute, chopping wood, calling for Rolf.
You can probably tell where this is going. My beloved Rolf is gone, down the damn bird's gullet. And as punishment for my hubris, the woods echo with Rolf's whimpers and cries every night. I think I will join Rolf soon.
