It had been the day that a servant had been found, beaten and bleeding on the kitchens floor, that the tension and anxiety Shortbeak had been repressing would finally find an outlet. Other than hapless highwaygriffons who didn’t have enough sense to quit while ahead that was. It had been a bit of a scandal, and Gerhart had handled the matter aptly, but Shortbeak found herself fuming. She had known the griffon – he was one of the number of nameless servants that seemed to come and go – but his death had resonated with her. Something was rotten in the state of Gethrenia, it was getting to the point of senseless violence, and the cause was as invisible as the air itself. It frustrated her to no end that there was no one she could bring to account for it all.