“Crows,” Gilda cursed as she flapped her wings upwards, creating a small dust cloud in her wake. In the air again, her eyes scanned forward, trying to see what the stupid brown ape gotten himself into this time. After a few seconds, she saw him, surrounded by two griffins, encircling him in a pincer situation. Marco was holding something in his hand,  some sort of metallic stick. He kept shifting his legs, his neck moving, trying to keep the two griffins encircling him in sight. And was it the sun, or was he bleeding?