Many think my greatest adventures were against dark sorcerers, or in forgotten kingdoms, or in battles of magic and might.

But let me tell you…

None of them compare to the day I had to chase a runaway griffin through the skies, dodging falling wagons, terrified villagers, and an unfortunate cheese cart that never recovered.

Because when a young griffin gets too excited, well… let’s just say even a great wizard like me struggles to keep up.

A Gift with Feathers

Long ago, before my beard was quite so long, before my knees ached when I bent too far, and before I learned never to trust a magical goat (a story for another time)…

I was given a gift.

A very special egg.

It was presented to me by an old friend, a wise beastmaster who had spent his life tending to magical creatures.

“It will hatch soon,” he told me. “And it will need a mentor.”

“A mentor?” I asked.

“Someone who can teach it to control its power, its instincts… and its mischief.”

I should have known then that I was in trouble.

For when the egg finally cracked open…

Out popped a young griffin.

And from the moment it opened its golden eyes, I knew—

This little beast was going to be a handful.

The Griffin Who Wouldn’t Listen

I named him Stormbeak, and he was full of trouble from the start.

• He stole scrolls from my study and turned them into nests.
• He knocked over potion bottles, causing an entire tree to float away (I never did get that tree back).
• And worst of all, he loved flying before he knew how to land properly.

Which, as you can imagine, led to problems.

And one day, it led to the worst problem of all.

The Great Griffin Escape

I was standing outside my tower, feeding Stormbeak his usual breakfast—a mix of meats, fruits, and a very particular kind of bread that he absolutely loved.

“Now,” I said, wagging a finger, “no flying today. You are still too young.”

Stormbeak tilted his head at me.

Then tilted it the other way.

Then…

He grinned.

And that’s when I knew.

“Stormbeak, don’t you dare—”

Too late.

WHOOSH!

With a flap of his oversized wings, he launched into the air, knocking me backward into a barrel of apples.

The young griffin let out a gleeful screech and soared toward the village below.

I groaned, pulling myself out of the apples.

“This,” I muttered, “is going to be a disaster.”

And I was not wrong.

Chaos in the Village

Stormbeak swooped through the village, flapping wildly as he tried to figure out how to slow down.

People ran in every direction.

• A farmer dove into a haystack.
• A woman’s hat flew off and landed on a goat.
• A wagon of cheese toppled over, sending wheels of cheese rolling down the street.

“Merlin!” the baker shouted. “What have you done this time?!”

“It’s not my fault!” I yelled, sprinting after Stormbeak. “Mostly!”

Stormbeak, meanwhile, was having the time of his life.

He looped around the village bell tower, scattering birds everywhere.

He accidentally grabbed a laundry line, sending shirts and trousers flying like banners.

And worst of all…

He was getting faster.

“Stormbeak!” I shouted. “Come down right now!”

He did not come down.

Instead, he grabbed my cloak in his talons and took me with him.

Merlin’s Wild Ride

Have you ever flown on a griffin before?

No?

Well, let me tell you…

It is terrifying.

Especially when the griffin doesn’t know how to land.

“Stormbeak!” I yelled, flailing as we soared over the village. “This is NOT the way wizards are supposed to travel!”

Stormbeak screeched happily, flapping harder.

Below us, the villagers watched in shock and amusement.

“Do you think he meant to do that?” one man asked.

“Oh, definitely not,” said another.

“Should we help?”

“Nah. Let’s see what happens first.”

The Crash Landing

Stormbeak finally realized his mistake.

The problem?

He realized it too late.

As he came in for a landing, his wings flared out too wide, sending us straight into a giant stack of hay.

THUMP!

I sat up slowly, covered in hay, straw in my beard, my hat somehow upside down on my head.

Stormbeak sat beside me, blinking.

Then, very proudly, he chirped.

The villagers erupted into laughter.

“Oh, don’t encourage him!” I grumbled, dusting myself off.

Stormbeak nuzzled me, completely unbothered by the chaos he had caused.

I sighed.

“Alright, alright,” I muttered. “But next time, we’re learning how to land first.”

Stormbeak grinned.

I had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to listen.

Again.

Merlin’s Final Words

That, dear reader, is how I almost became the first wizard to be thrown into orbit by his own griffin.

And if you ever find yourself raising a magical creature, let me give you a bit of advice—

Teach them how to land before they learn to fly.

Trust me.

You’ll thank me later.