The gryphons chirped and tapped their beaks against my window with polite impatience. They knew not to break the glass even if breakfast was a most dire emergency to them. And lunch. And dinner.
I yawned, rolled out of bed, directly into my boots, pulled on a coat and waddled out with two big buckets of feed, my eager pets prancing around me, then shoving their heads under my armpits as I poured.
Hard to believe they used to be war-beasts.
@Teryl_Pacieco dang it, now I want to do a story about Dr Max Keblovskij, the veterinarian in steampunk London with the encyclopedic knowledge of European animal myths. Poor guy wanted to specialize in rich people's cats. He's in Dorchester right now, getting a fire breathing turtle out of some poor farmer's pond, dratted things have spread out of Cornwall.
@miguel31416 @Teryl_Pacieco and I've got a three act scenario sketched out where you're assisting Max's daughter Dr Molly in her first field case while her more famous father is away, helping her trap and remove some critters that a rat catcher wants to shoot and turn in for the bounty. The rat catcher has some rough sorts working with them who will try to intimidate you, interfere with your trapping, and drive the critters out of the village to be shot.