"Oh?" Atticus hummed.
His curiosity only barely masked the disappointment he felt; the latter swarmed through him like insects swirling in his belly. So close!
"Perhaps you would like to have some proper rest first? You've got a couple of weeks before the competition starts. It's alright to procrastinate just a little," he suggested. "I could better massage your back if you just lay down on the bed―"
He was interrupted by the griffin that flew straight onto Daphne's lap. The stupid bird squawked for attention, practically nuzzling into Daphne's embrace like a lap cat.
"Oh, are you hungry already?" Daphne asked, opening her eyes as she gazed down at the griffin flapping his wings. Her husband was all but forgotten in the face of the griffin's plaintive cries, demanding her attention.
"Didn't he just eat?" Atticus grumbled. "If he grows any fatter he won't be able to fly."
