Prolog

Music Inspiration

Prolog

Blood ran over the feathers, mixed with rain and dripped to the ground. The massive body staggered and with a drooping wing he staggered 2 steps to the side. The mighty beak was smeared with blood and a gaping wound stretched over the left eye. In addition, the griffin coughed up blood.

"That was it. You can't escape anymore." A man stepped in front of the injured griffin. The rain ran down his black leather clothes and for a moment a tattoo shimmered on his forearm. The tattoo depicted a skull in front of which a crossbow crossed with a dagger and a sword.

The gryphon remained on the spot, but sank a little deeper again.

"Not so. Stay upright. As the last representative of your kind, you should die proud and with dignity and not on the ground in the mud of your own misery." The man put a bolt in his crossbow and put it on.

"Greet me the bird sky ......"

He broke off in the middle of a sentence, blood came out of the corners of his mouth and then his head fell to the ground. The headless body remained in place for a moment, then collapsed.

Another man stepped out from behind the dead crossbowman and lowered a two-handed sword.

 "Say hello to hell." 

He stepped over the corpse and stepped in front of the injured griffin.

He raised his healthy wing and threatened with his beak.

"Quiet. I'm here to help you," the man said.

The gryphon hesitated for a moment, then collapsed, falling with his body on the healthy wing. There was an ugly sound of breaking bones.

Frightened, the man approached the gryphons to turn him, but the gryphon pecked at him with his beak.

"Hey. I want to help you!" He avoided the beak.

The gryphon spat blood again and lifted the wing, which had already been wounded before, in great pain.

"By the gods...." stammered the man.

A small heap of misery crept out from under the injured wings. It pressed itself against the dying gryphon's body for help, emitting small helpless sounds.

"I thought ... you'd be the last!" The man got down on his knees and stroked the dying gryphon's head. The body convulsed in pain once again as the injured wing pushed the little creature towards the man. It resisted, but the wing was stronger.

The man looked at the gryphon with firm determination.

"I will protect it. I swear that on my life," he said and clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against his wet chest as a gesture of promise.

The healthy eye seemed to look at him gratefully, then it looked at the little bundle of feathers that pressed itself against the griffin's head and sought closeness and protection.

For a moment it lit up and a tear left it, then the shine in the eye went out. 

The wing slumped lifelessly to the ground. 

It was over.

The little creature nudged the lifeless body several times and expected a reaction. When nothing came, it screamed heartbreakingly and pressed itself again and again against the wet gryphon's body.

The man lowered his head and breathed heavily. Then he stretched out his hands and embraced the little body. It was now the last of its kind. 

A baby griffin. 

It tried to wriggle out and pecked at its hands with its little beak, but the man wore gloves.

It flapped its small wings and tried to get to the gryphon's body, but the grip did not let up despite the wetness.

"Your mother is dead! We can't do anything more," he said and pressed the gryphon baby to his chest, where the little body became calmer and then twitched irregularly. 

From grief and pain.

The man looked at the dead griffin one last time, then he disappeared into the forest.