Shortbeak had excused herself after a while, leaving Handy to entertain the sick griffon without interruption. He had lost himself in the process of telling his story, all the while trying not to think too hard about the hard, grey substance that was slowly consuming the griffon in front of him. She was much smaller than Shortbeak now that he thought about it, but she couldn’t have been too much younger than her. How long had she been bound to this bed?