Griffin:

A fabulous beast with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion.

When it emerged from the noisome indefinite darkness of the spell from which it had been summoned, and a gold and purple dawn spread itself lustrously with the piercing, cold contrast of a winter morning, the Beast knew that its crippling deficiency was both ironic and critical. Also, the Beast knew that it was intentional. The malicious witches who had summoned him had failed to give him wings. The gods had allowed this.

Rearing up on its hind legs, sniffing and pawing at the fresh, sharp air, a newly born creature, it felt the joy of life and the excitement of a new day deep in its heart, and the lusty desire for adventure burning in its belly; but it also felt its missing wings. Frustrated, outraged, angry, eager as a war horse for battle, its first moment of life ruined the beautiful monster’s existence and blackened its lofty mind with thoughts of a single goal:

Revenge.