Shortbeak ran, the paltry few edibles bouncing precariously in the worn cloth she clutched in her beak. Her breath frosted upon the cold winter air as she sped across the cobblestone streets, splashing puddles of icy water as she ducked and weaved beneath the legs of the townsfolk milling about the market place. She didn’t fly – that was a rookie’s mistake, for she would be too easy to spot from below. The guards would have had no problem catching her, even if her larger wings gave her more wing strength and speed than most griffons her age.