Its texture was fur, or tiny feathers, or maybe a silky skin -- it was impossible to tell as it advanced, its limbs like a giant grasping hand. It was a Deliryad, and it was the first one Olive had ever seen. Or at least, the first adult.
"This is Spot," Ferl said. "He belongs to Mr. Griffin."
"Well hello sir," Styg said to the monster, reaching out a hand. Olive didn't move -- not even a little. Spot's glinting eye studied Styg's hand, and then its mouth opened in an enormous jagged broken-glass snarl.
Styg backed up, his eyes wide and his skin instinctively taking on the paisley pattern of the wallpaper behind him. "He doesn't like elves," said a voice from above. "Not even to eat."
A slight boy of elevenish was standing at the balcony above a winding staircase, his arms slung over the rail and head resting at an angle. He didn't blink.
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