Hale rustled up with a squawk of agitation. Spreading his wings, he leaped at the hunter’s back. The big man swung around. He was as fast as the griffin, ducking under the stab of its beak and grasping it by the throat. Yet he did not squeeze or tear. He twisted back and forth as if at war within himself, an instinct to protect the beast struggling against the malevolent rage surging through his flesh.
The black corruption slithered from his bare hands into Hale’s flesh. With a cry of dismay, horrified at what he’d just done, the man released the beast and stumbled backward.
***
