Griffith stood on the back of the bench the rest of the day and most of the night, thinking hard about his life in the park. He knew that his disability was not natural for a bird, and his instinct to fly was suffocated by his time on the ground. <\/p>\n

He also knew that Oswald was telling the truth, or at least believed he could help Griffith fly, so Griffith trusted Oswald, as crazy as it sounded. He did not, however, believe that a squirrel had a solution to fix a permanently-pinioned wing. There was also the distinct possibility of him dying, and Griffith still enjoyed his life, as routine as it was. <\/p>\n

After waking up the next morning and rolling his feathers in the dusty pits near the bench, he decided to take Oswald up on his offer, and screeched several times to call the squirrel. He was startled by a sudden shadow passing over him, and looked up to see the largest barn owl imaginable hovering a half-block away. Griffith quickly realized that Oswald was being hunted, and started hopping in the direction of the owl’s circuit. He knew there was very little time. <\/p>\n

As he moved further away from the park, the surrounding trees cleared and Griffith caught a glimpse of the skyline and vastness of the city. He saw buildings and sidewalks lined with small trees, tiny planes and zooming cars and hurried people rushing about with their heads down. He heard music from three different street corners, all different songs but still somehow coming together in a single melody. And before him, a statue of a man on a horse loomed above, upon which crouched a very out-of-breath Oswald, clinging to the stone for dear life. Above him, the owl had perched on a window ledge and was watching his every move. <\/p>\n

Griffith moved closer to the statue and whispered upwards towards the squirrel. “Are you okay?”<\/p>\n

“Yeah,” Oswald called down, “just out of breath.”<\/p>\n

The falcon looked around for something familiar to hide in, but was at a loss. “What can I do?” he hissed.<\/p>\n

Oswald gestured behind Griffith. “There’s a taxi parked on the other side of the street. If we can get under it we’ll be fine.”<\/p>\n

Griffith mentally measured the distance to the taxi. Almost fifty feet away and across the lanes of traffic. He glanced up the sidewalk, and saw more dogs at a single intersection than he had his entire life. A plan was hatched. <\/p>\n

“Get ready to run,” he called as he took off hopping towards the intersection.<\/p>\n

The blood was pumping through his arteries and Griffith started to feel the adrenaline mixing in. His excitement increased, and at the same time a horrible feeling of dread. He headed directly towards a tall woman walking at least 8 different dogs, and just before he reached them, the falcon opened his wings and charged the pack, screeching at the top of his lungs and ruffling his father’s to inflate his size. <\/p>\n

The dogs lost their minds and immediately pulled the woman off her feet as they rushed to meet Griffith. <\/p>\n

He changed course and ran into the middle of the intersection, drawing the pack behind him, and at the last second he flapped awkwardly and managed to leave the ground enough to barely clear a Toyota Camry. Six lanes of traffic ground to a halt as the dogs dispersed into the road, barking and baying excitedly. Oswald saw his opportunity a second before the owl did, and lept off the statue and raced towards the road as the owl silently swooped down from the ledge. Griffith watched in amazement a the two creatures nearly met on their trajectories, Oswald diving under the nearest car as the owl barely pulled up from the pavement, talons outstretched and bared. <\/p>\n

The owl’s wings strokes almost blew the squirrel out the other side, but Oswald recovered his bearings and trotted under traffic until he reached the taxi where Griffith waited. <\/p>\n

“That was close.” Oswald grinned at the falcon and scratched his ear. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Griffith stood on the back of the bench the rest of the day and most of the night, thinking hard about his life in the park. He knew that his disability was not natural for a bird, and his instinct to fly was suffocated by his time on the ground.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"The Tale of Griffith McCarthy | Chapter 3","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[909,908],"tags":[1145,1471,1472,1461,750,1462,795,1028],"class_list":["post-1896","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-creative","category-journal","tag-fiction","tag-hunt","tag-owl","tag-peregrine-falcon","tag-short-story","tag-squirrel","tag-story","tag-traffic"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n