“She is just as fierce, and fitting of her name. Tiffany. Named for the Epiphany. Because I trained her to give as a gift on that feast day, for the abbot.” He felt a familiar weight on his chest, a burn in his lungs. Brother Clement had called her Theophania, the proper Latin form, until he gave in and simply called her Tiffin. When Gryff called to her in the hunt, it was just Tiff, which Clement had said was not elegant enough.

Eager to think of anything other than Brother Clement, Gryff looked to the dog again. He didn’t know its name.

“What will I call you? A mighty name, I think. You are no hawk.” It looked cheerfully up at him, tongue lolling as it walked. “Bran. I’ll call you Bran. A giant and a king.”

A Welsh name for a long-ago king. The little dog was nothing like a giant, but the name fit him anyway. Innocent and earnest, like he and his brothers had once been when they had asked the bard to sing the legend again and again. “Does it agree with you, little Bran, or is it too Welsh?”

But Bran was running ahead through the trees, in the direction where the road should be, and disappeared quickly. Either there was some danger, or the party of travelers was there beyond the trees. Gryff stood, his breath suspended. There was only the sound of the dog barking in the distance and his imagination to keep him company while he tried to convince himself there was no danger. He cursed Baudry to hell for turning him into this timid ghost of himself, and tried to make his feet move. It was the weight of the birds on his arms, though, that finally spurred him to move in the direction of the road.

The sound of the barking grew louder until Gryff came to the road, where the travelers were tensed and watchful. The deadly girl was nowhere to be seen. Bran made more noise than he could have dreamt possible for something so small.

“The dog does not care for my birds, I think,” he called as he approached.

“He envies their beauty,” answered Alfred, looking in admiration at the falcon, and the whole party seemed to relax.

While Alfred helped him affix the cage to a saddle, the girl appeared. Gryff thought she came from the trees, but he had not heard or seen her. She looked warily at the birds, and he tried not to stare at her. It felt impossible that the others could so easily keep their eyes from her. But then, they were likely used to her. He had not been in the presence of any woman, whether plain or comely, for longer than a few minutes – not in years. Little wonder he was transfixed.