The remnants of the griffons staying at the inn stirred in the wake of the attack, groans and muttered curses mingled with relieved gasps and shouts of joy at surviving the assault. Mostly. At least two of the guards were dead; the two soldiers were little more than mounds of snow by the gates to the inn courtyard; and Fallow was badly wounded. He stirred and was helped to his feet by another griffon who was saying something in his ear but he wasn’t listening. One eye blinded by the blood flowing into it from a gash on his scalp, he scanned the room to find somegriffon in particular. He saw what she did and found himself desperately praying she had got a hold of herself before she went off and did something he knew would only make her a worse person. He didn’t find her.