The old dusty pages of mythology books are filled with the trials and conquests of reckless heroes who flew too close to the sun. As young Galen climbed the snow burdened mountain step by step, he promised himself he wouldn’t be one of them. The snow shot through the wind like little needles, stabbing the exposed bits of his face. Each motion he made was weighed down by equal measures of caution and reluctance. One freezing foot in front of the other; that’s how he’d make it. 

    What lay at the top of that mountain was Galen’s last option. The family had tried every ritual, root, and remedy for blindness his ancient Grandmother could dream up but nothing could cure his older sister Alya. Ever since she’d gotten sick the household had been completely disjointed, like a body trying to function with its brain shut off.

    He’d secretly hoped it wouldn’t have come to this, he was a homebody at heart and everyone knew he had poor tolerance for cold. The one thing Galen would never let anyone perceive of him was selfishness. That's what landed him there, climbing, creeping slowly, searching for their last glimmering ray or in his particular case tuft, of hope. Galen looked up and not ten feet above him was a circular tuft of fur on the end of a thick brown tail. He was close! Two more treacherous shifts of weight and there he was: The Griffin. 

    He lay with his narrow feathered head on the ground between his talon-topped front legs. The shining white feathers became sparse along his torso but were replaced twice as fast with golden brown fur which covered his stalky hind. Even in his sleep, the majestic creature demanded respect. Galen felt as if he should be bowing down, not sealing from such a beast. 

    A single feather. That’s all it was.

    He watched as The Griffin breathed slowly in his sleep and the cold air stained his breath smoky. There was a single exposed wing feather that stuck out from the rest. It was loose. Perfect.

    Galen took a few minuscule steps forward, crouched down, and reached out his arm in a posture like someone who dared to touch a hot kettle. He held the feather between his fingers and pulled. There it was, free in his hand. Galen wasted no time. With his mission complete, Galen began to descend the same path he’d taken up.

    That's when the noises started. An earthshaking sigh rattled down the mountain. It was a sound only a Griffin could make. Galen increased his speed but it was no use, he’d barely made it three more steps before the great swoop of wings shook in his ears and the glint of feathers hit his eyes. The Griffin swooped down in front of him and found the nearest place to perch. He was three times as intimidating awake. 

    He spoke in a voice like thunder, “What brings you here child?”

    One look into those piercing, bird-shaped yet human-like eyes and Galen instantly knew he couldn’t lie, “A feather, I took a feather,” he stammered 

    The Griffin was unmoving, “What for?”

    “My sister is blind and I heard that Griffin feathers could cure it, so—so I took it,” the young man lowered his head.

    “You didn’t ask.”

    “You may have it back.”

    “No,” The Griffin looked at Galen with soul-reading eyes. “Keep it. A very noble cause it was. Such bravery, to steal from a Griffin.”

    “I was foolish.”

    “No!” The Griffin screeched.

    Galen froze.

    “It is very easy to confuse the two, but I am an expert. You would do well not to question me on such matters. I sympathize with you, young human. I grant you the feather…and a few of your own.”

    Sparking mist like the dust of prosperous centuries, engulfed the young man. A pair of golden wings sprung from his shoulders.

    “Thank you! Thank you, great Griffin,” Galen cried in disbelief as the beautiful creature flew away, back to his place at the top of the mountain. 

    Galen gently flapped his new wings. Although unfamiliar, they moved naturally for him, like a second pair of arms. He flapped them again this time hard enough to swoop him off the ground. Upwards Galen went until his village came into clear view. Then he glided down toward it like an eagle. The wings were so powerful and secure that Galen felt no fear at all flying. He watched, peaceful and trusting as the rocks beneath him blurred into streaks of grey paint. From the wings trickled flecks that looked like little golden snow as they fell.  

    He carried on until out of the corner of his eye, Galen saw a misty blue light he paused for a moment to examine it. Up in the mountains, he could see a creature with wings unlike his or The Griffin’s. The wings were dark, matted, and wicked. They belonged to a creature with the body of a muscular workhorse and hooves like axes. Its one ghostly blue eye was transfixed on Galen’s golden wings. 

    Arimaspi, that’s what it was called. Greedy vile creatures, the enemies of Griffins. They hunted for gold like it was oxygen. Crude survivalist greed, that’s all they were. Galen knew the stories. His heart was punching his throat as he watched two more Arimaspi join the first, staring him down from the cliffs. 

    Galen had to leave. Away he flew, this time with frantic pace and shaky breath. Finally, his village crept close enough for him to see the familiar cabins and smell the dinner meat roasting on the fires. Swooping down, in front of his house, Galen regained his balance, folded his wings against his back, and ducked down into the threshold of his family’s cabin. The familiar air smelled of wood chips and wool. 

    An elderly woman approached Galen. She gasped at the sight of her winged grandson. The golden flecks were replicated in her eyes with a glint of familiarity. He handed her the single feather but she stood there frozen, with a dazed expression on her face.

    “The Griffin chose you,” she whispered awestruck.

    Galen, breathless from his journey, panted out the words, “Yes Grandma, he let me take it. And he gave me these.”

    “It was either a wondrous blessing or a terrible curse,” she said with a finality that made Galen uneasy.

    Alya was sitting on a quilt telling a story animatedly to her younger siblings. Galen smiled with satisfaction, and pride in what he had done, she would be cured.

    From outside, tremors shook the ground. Then came the screams. Galen bolted outside to the sight of his nightmares. Blue mist hung in the squelched air like an omen. Arimaspi, a dozen of them, bucking at the houses. Walls were kicked down and left to be swallowed by fire pits. Parentless children wandered, aimless and disoriented. Arimaspi sniffed their angular nostrils, aggressively at the ground like hounds on a scent. One followed the golden flecks on the ground to Galen’s petrified feet. 

    “Gold Galen! They want the Gold!” His grandmother’s grave voice shook in his ears. He had to go. 

    With one great swoop of his wings, Galen was off the ground. The Arimaspi followed the trail of gold dust into the air. The young man soared into the air, his wings flapped with furious power. All of the Arimaspi had left the village and were solely focused on the golden wings. They clawed clumsily at him with their hooves. Galen dodged them, flying higher and higher into the thin air. Soon his lungs had to fight as hard as his wings. The exertion was slowing him down but the Arimaspi ravaged on, surrounding Galen like a tunnel of hungry piranhas. 

    Then, there was a roar like a sea, light tore through the tunnel.

    “I gave you the chance,” hailed The Griffin sorrowfully.

    A wave of guilt rocked Galen. The majestic beast fended off the Arimaspi which cowered in fear at his very presence. When The Griffin let out another roar of warning, the Arimaspi scattered and it was just Galen and The Griffin. 

    “Why didn’t you even try to fight them,” demanded The Griffin.

    There was only the sound of crackling fire below and Galen's metallic wings, for he still pressed on upwards.

    “You lead them to your village! And you didn’t even fight back.”

    Galen covered his ears. He already knew everything The Griffin said.

    “I’m a coward! I’m a fool,” cried the young man. “Take back my wings and let me fall,” he pleaded, gasping in oxygen-less air.

    It was a pitiful sight. Young Galen stayed like that, crying and thrashing, unable to live with the knowledge that it was his recklessness that caused his village’s dying breath of smoke that rose with him. Before long everything went black. Galen fell limply through the air back down to the earth

    What he hadn’t heard was The Griffin’s offer for a second chance. The creature had still believed in him, even then. 

    “You can still go back. You may keep your wings so long as you promise to use them to protect what’s left of your village,” he had called to Galen.

    “Such a waste,” The Griffin muttered watching the boy fall.

    He couldn’t let his gift be meaningless like this.

***

    The smoke had cleared and the village banded together to rebuild their home. Wheelbarrows made hundreds of trips, clearing out the burned belongings. The elderly and wise tended to burns. Young women cared for the children of the deceased or injured. Men hauled out the wreckage to make way for the new. 

    Despite how busy the people were, the town was silent as a cemetery. Nobody knew what to make of it, they had to carry on half-crippled. The people knew that if the Arimaspi came again they would be defenseless. So they waited in silent dread of the unknown.

    One house knew more than the rest. That house was no longer silent when a small child ran in.

    “Alya! It's him, the golden man they found him,” piped the little boy.

    Alya’s feet carried her outside before her mind could decide what to think. She could see it without the little boy pointing it out. Upon the mountain was a golden-winged statue. Alya ran through the field and to the mountain. Her lungs burned with anticipation. Before she could begin to climb up the foot of the mountain, a voice stopped her.

    “So it's you…”

    Alya turned around and was face to face with The Griffin.

    “It was because of my feather you were healed,” he said. 

    She fell to the rocky ground and thanked him.

    “I know that you came here to see the statue. It is dangerous for you to go alone.” 

    The Griffin kneeled and allowed Alya to get on his back. He flew her up to where the statue was and perched on the cliff above it to watch over her.

    There it was.

    The Griffin had turned Galen to gold moments before he hit the ground. He was turned upright with his arms and wings splayed out in front of him. On his face was a peaceful expression. Alya too felt at peace when she read the inscription.

 

Galen the protector. Selfless and cautious. May his fall serve as a reminder to fight for those you love and to never waste your gifts. Here stands his second chance. For as long as this statue is here, the village will be protected from the Arimaspi.