Through much of the winter, the Lost Mountain was completely inaccessible. Constant snowfall buried the craggy peak for almost eight months out of the year. Loose snow was very difficult to gauge. It could be a few inches deep or a few feet. The uneven surface beneath it was impossible to see until the spring melt.
As the expedition of three eased their way up the mountain, they wondered if the end of winter was the best time to attempt to scale the Lost Mountain. All around them, little pockets of loose snow lost their grip on the dark grey stone. For two days, they’d walked above, below and through brief cascades of falling snow.
Calla, the expedition leader, moved with practiced caution up the mountain. Each step she took was measured, and she kept one hand on the rock to her left, up-mountain, at all times. Behind her, the two rugged biologists followed without haste. At this stretch, speed was entirely irrelevant.
Every few paces, the biologist in the rear, Wolfe, would look up and to the right. His keen eyes scanned the snowpack for anything out of the ordinary. His repetition was precise as he believed good science was based on performing predictably so that aberrations were easily identified.
His care was soon rewarded. Thirty feet ahead the snow was shaped all wrong. There was a dug-out ditch and a few marks around it. The small spots were tracks, and the ditch was a resting area. They had found their first sign of a Lost Mountain Griffon.
Perches like this were typical of the world’s mountain griffons. On the Lost Mountain, however, was the only place they were dug into snow rather than the earth itself. The beasts would set themselves into a spot that stuck out from the mountain to look down and spy potential prey. When a candidate was spotted, the griffon would extend its wings, take a few running steps to start and launch out to glide silently down on top of their victim.
“There,” Wolfe said, loud enough for both Romul and Calla to hear him. “That’s a perch. Not too big.”
“Adolescent, you think?” Romul ventured.
“Could be. Calla, can we get to it?”
All three paused, taking the moment to catch their breath. Calla’s seasoned eyes looked out to the packed snow and worked backwards. She ran through scenarios, making educated guesses on where it was safe to step and where it was not. While she did, the biologists examined the surrounding area. Neither saw any sign of him.
“Yes,” Calla said finally. “I see a path. Come on.”
They made it only a few steps when the chance vanished before their eyes. Something in the structure of the perch’s packed snow changed. Whatever had held it in place gave out, and the whole pile began to slide toward the edge. The three mountaineers watched in dismay as the snow slipped off the side of the mountain and tumbled down the dark stone.
When it finally settled, nothing of the griffon’s snowy perch remained.
Romul cursed in frustration. “That’s infuriating. These things are impossible to find.”
“I’m sorry,” Calla said, defeat laced in her tone. “I could have moved faster.”
Wolfe waved them both off. “Frustration is the wrong reaction here.”
“How?” Romul growled. “We had our first real sign. No one’s seen a griffon on this peak in three years. How are we supposed to track it, let alone study it, if our evidence crumbles to nothing?”
“No one’s seen one in three years. And in our first week, we’ve found a kill and a perch. That snow fell just as we approached.”
“So what?”
Romul missed the hint, but Calla did not. “It’s near,” she said. “If its claws loosened the snow, if it only fell just now, it’s because the griffon could not have left very long ago.”
“It’s up here. And close.” Wolfe smiled, determined to see the positive through the grave disappointment. “We’re doing something right. If we keep doing it, we’ll see him soon.”
Romul nodded, though the scowl did not leave his face. It would take a while for him to shake off the loss of a genuine piece of griffon evidence. The creatures were so elusive that any sign of them was exceedingly rare. But Calla had taken some of Wolfe’s positive attitude, and when they resumed hiking she moved with a renewed sense of purpose.
The griffon was up here somewhere. They were so close.
The Tall Tale Year 