Two little gryphlets, only a few weeks old, tumble and wrestle over and around their mother. The girl usually manages to knock the boy over, but he gets some good play-bites in, too. Their mother watches tiredly, thin and hungry. A careless claw draws blood on the mother's flank, and both young are sent sprawling by a lashed claw.

The mother stands up, growling, and stalks a small circle around the little nesting area. Safely secluded from the rest of the aerie. She looks down at the two young, who are blinking in confusion and huddled back away from her. "Oh, hush. Come on. You're not hurt," she croons to them, laying down again and pulling them close. They relax, and start squalling for food, gaping little beaks up towards her. Each is almost small enough to fit fully in her beak, but they beg fearlessly up at the giver of food.

She growls and stands up again, sending the little ones tumbling. "No food yet. Not until your father brings us some. I swear... that useless creature... couldn't find a deer if it stepped on his wing...". Her head snaps up, and she makes a warning chirp to the babies, who go instantly silent and still. Another gryphon approaches. Father.

"The hunting's bad," he growls, throwing half a tiny fawn at his mate. His belly is not so tight drawn as hers, his face not so gaunt from hunger.

She snaps up the meat and backs away, growling, and lays down to tear tiny shreds away from it, to stuff into the squawling, screeching beaks that beg upwards to her. "You ate a lot of it," she snarls, between feedings.

"Not so much," he snaps defensively. "I left the most meat for you, and the brats."

The female narrows her eyes and flicks her tail. "Our children," she corrects, stuffing another bloody shred of meat into whichever beak happens to be demanding the hardest. "They need to eat better. I'd hunt, but I remember what happened lassst time."

"That was an accident," he growls, turning away. "And anyway... I don't think there's going to be any better hunting. Sharrah's got the fighting wings on full rations again. So they can keep up with her, I think." He turns back towards his mate, and looks at the hungry mouths, gulping down the meat as fast as they can, biting at eachother between offerings. "Look, I think..."

The mother flares her wings and snarls savagely. "Don't even say it," she hisses.

The father shrugs, and turns to go. "I'm going scouting. Orders." And he is gone.