Squire by Tamora Pierce Page B

retrieved the griffin and carried him outside, where Raoul and Daine sat on a bench in the shade. As Kel approached with the griffin in his battered leather pouch, she heard Daine say, “No, just for a couple of weeks, but it was enough. I’m afraid I freed every hawk there.” She smiled up at Kel and held out her hands for the pouch. “And this must be as thankless for you as it gets.”
    Kel held the pouch, worried. “Its parents…” she began.
    Daine smiled, her blue-gray eyes mischievous. “Unlike you, I can talk to them, and they’ll understand me,” she reminded Kel. “Let’s have a look.”
    She lifted the griffin out of the pouch, gripping its forepaws in one hand and its hind paws in the other. Once it was in the open, she handled it deftly, checking its anus, opening the wings to feel the bones, prying open the snapping beak to look into its throat. Kel and Raoul watched, awed. From time to time the immortal landed a scratch or a bite, but not often.
    “We tried keeping him in a cage at first,” Kel said. “The metal rusts to nothing overnight. He just rips through straw and cloth.”
    “No, metal’s no good,” Daine replied. “They learn how to age it young. Even a baby like this can break down an average cage overnight, once they have the knack of it. You don’t really need a cage. He’ll stay with you now that you’ve handfed him.”
    “Oh, splendid,” Kel grumbled. “If only I’d known.”
    Daine continued as if she’d said nothing. “Make him a platform to sit on, or get him a carrier like they have for the dogs. He should exercise his wings.” She bounced the griffin up and down in the air. Instinctively he flapped his wings, scattering dander and loose feathers. “Do it like that. He’s got to build them up to fly.” She inspected the griffin’s eyes. “You don’t have to feed him only fish - other kinds of meat won’t kill him, and I know fresh fish is hard to come by. He can have smoked fish and meat, even jerky.” She held the immortal up in front of her face. Kel was fascinated to see Daine’s brisk treatment produce a cowed youngster: the griffin didn’t even try to scratch her now, but stared at her as if he’d never seen anything like her. “Yes, jerky’s good,” Daine said with a smile. “He can chew on it instead of you.”
    “It’s a he?” Raoul asked. He was fascinated. Jump sat at his feet, as attentive as Raoul.
    Daine nodded and opened the griffin’s hind legs, pointing to the bulges at the base of his belly. “Just like cats,” she said as the griffin squalled. She tugged fish skin off one of his feet before she let the legs close again.
    “Keeping him clean is fun,” Kel said. At least he looked better than he had in Owlshollow. It had meant several days’ work with diluted soap, oil, and balls of cotton, as well as nearly a pint of her blood lost to scratches and bites, but it had been worth the effort. The grease clumps were gone, and his feathers were now bright orange instead of rnuddy orange-brown.
    Daine looked at Kels tattered sleeves and hands. “I’ll show you how to trim his claws, so he doesn’t do so much damage.”
    “Easier said than done,” Raoul pointed out.
    Daine laughed. “You’ve done well by him, and it’s a thankless job. I can see he was hungry for a time, but he’s gaining weight at last.”
    Kel shrugged, embarrassed. “He’s a vicious little brute,” she muttered.
    “I’ll bet you are, just like the rest of your kind,” Daine told the griffin. “Preen his feathers with your fingers - that helps shake out the dander. And I know you’re aware of this, but don’t get too fond, Kel. He’s not like this lad.” She stirred Jump with her foot. He pounded dust from the ground with his tail. “He belongs with other griffins.”
    “You can’t take him?” Kel asked. “Really, he’s too much for me. I can’t even ask for help with him.”
    “If you could - ” Raoul began.
    Daine shook her head.