The last griffin pounced on us—on me, since I was closer—like a living mountain of muscle and desperate fury. As it stood, it had no chance, and its desperation only made it even more vulnerable. It was over in three steps.
One, I dashed to the side, which let me evade the initial attack. Yvenna mirrored my notion, staying clear of the griffin as well, though I knew that won't last for long.
Two, I lunged with the stinger at the open side, hitting it straight between the ribs, and knew by the bubbly red foam that comes out of the wound that I hit a lung.
Three, the griffin, already dying, rolled over and crushed me under with the entire weight of its convulsing body.
