The question was followed up by a bark of harsh laughter from the griffon’s crony. She knew who he was – everygriffon on the streets knew Sharpclaw. He was tall for a griffon, dark brown feathers with yellowish eye shadows, with the exception for a bloody streak going down across one milky eye. He took a step forward, and Shortbeak hurriedly found her footing again. She knew she should apologise – hopefully he’d not take offence and go and ruin somegriffon else’s day instead – but Shortbeak wouldn’t. She would never allow herself to, and her defiance had bought her an unwelcome reputation on the streets of Downsfallow. One the griffon before her wouldn’t appreciate coming from anyone, especially not from a child.