In Tossa de Mar, in the north east corner of Spain. Where the mountains are covered in the green plants and trees. The golden sun rose above the curved natural bump of the Earth's surface. The feeling of the day felt normal, nothing was different, just usual. A loud, slow flapping crossed the sky like another part of the day, just like another bird. Except there was something that wasn't normal about the bird, well the fact that it wasn't a bird wasn't normal.
The creature crossed the sky as if it was a cloud in high winds, or a ship skimming across the ocean's surface. It's autumn like brown fur shimmered in the glorious morning light and for it's feathers, they twitched in the gentle breeze. It's bird head was lifted proud, against the winds, and it's lion tail waved like a flag. A griffin, that is what the creature is. Not normal? Well you'd be wrong, it's actually quite normal. A loud howl of bloody pain echoed around the mountains, a terror shattered in the griffin's bones. His wings reversed backwards, and he was racing the air current against him. But what for is a mystery. That only he knows, and only he will go towards a certain death.