The griffons rode the coat-tails of an onshore wind. The gusts dashed against the cliffs one after another, and broke in invisible waves. They could feel each cascading flurry, but they could not see them. The griffons were expert flyers, predicting each wave, and adjusting in perfect time. The flock of three flew on, keeping formation by way of smell and with short controlled squawks. It had taken practice, but they had now learned to do it by those senses alone.
They could not see the wind, nor could they see themselves either. Thanks to Q.
Before they had left, the old tinkerer had fashioned a harness using some of the magical leftovers that Borindin’s mage Malorus let him “use for inventions”. Q was able to create an invisible field which could surround one of the creatures along with it’s riders. But there was a catch. The magic, said Q in his usually excitable tone, was new. And new often meant it didn’t work as good as the old stuff. So long as the griffon kept up a speed of say 10 knots, the rider and mount were invisible to all. Drop below that, and they would appear again.
With the gusts against them, the griffons thus fought not just to make it to the landing site, but also to stay hidden.
“Come on my feathered friends,” Iricah whispered, holding tight onto the feathered mane of the griffon. “Thrak is out there. And he doesn’t have a spare tail this time!”