The Piebald Hippogriff

Fall asleep to a dreamy short story from 1962’s Fantastic Stories of Imagination: The Piebald Hippogriff.  A boy named Johnny reaches the world’s edge, looks past the granite lip into an endless blue, and finds islands adrift, star-flowers nodding, and a herd of hippogriffs turning the air into a playground. If you love myth, gentle peril, and the feeling of wind in your ears as the world falls away, this bedtime story will meet you where your breathing slows and your imagination widens. So snuggle up in your blankets and have sweet dreams. 

The music in this episode is Cold Winds by Gavin Luke.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:20

Welcome to Dreamful Podcast, Bedtime Stories for Slumber. I would like to start off this episode by thanking our newest supporters, Rosanna Quendo and Justin Boland. Thank you both so much, and I hope you have the sweetest of dreams. If you'd like to be just like Roseanne and Justin and support the show, gain access to subscriber-only episodes, and receive a shout-out, visit dreamfulstories.com and on the support page, find a link to become a BuzzRock supporter or subscribe via Supercast if you listen on Spotify. In this episode, I found a dreamy short story from a magazine in 1962 called Fantastic Stories of Imagination. This is the Piebald Hippogriph. So, snuggle up in your blankets and have sweet dreams. Johnny tossed his pack and coil of rope over it and started climbing. The top three strands were barbed wire. He caught his shirt as he went over and had to stop for a moment to ease himself off. Then he dropped lightly to the grass on the other side. The pack had landed in a clump of white clover. A cloud of disturbed bees hung above, and he snatched it away quickly, lest they should notice the honeycomb inside. For a minute, he stood still, looking out toward the edge. This was different from looking through the fence, and when he moved, it was slowly. He eased himself to the ground, where a corner of rock rose clear of the thick lark spur and lay on his belly, the stone hard and cool under his chin, and looked down. The granite cliff curved away out of sight, and he couldn't see if it had a foot. He saw only endless blue, beyond, below, and on both sides, clouds passed slowly. Directly beneath him, there was a ledge covered with long grass, where clusters of stars bloomed on tall, slender stalks. He uncoiled his rope and found a stout beech tree not too close to the edge. Doubling the rope around the bowl, he tied one end around his waist, slung the pack on his back, and belayed himself down the cliff. Pebbles clattered, saxophrage brushed his arms and tickled his ears. The climb was hard, but not too much. Less than half an hour later, he was stretched out on the grass, with stars nodding about him. They had a sharp, gingery smell. He lay in the cool shadow of the world's edge for a while, eating apples and honeycomb from his pack. When he was finished, he licked the honey off his fingers and threw the apple cores over, watching them fall into the blue. Little islands floated along, rocking gently in air at ease. Sunlight flashed on glossy leaves of bushes growing there. When an island drifted into the shadow of a cliff, the blossoming stars shone out. Beyond the shadows, deep in the light-filled gulf. He saw the hippogriffs at play. There were dozens of them, frisking and cavorting in the air. He gazed at them full of wonder. They pretended to fight, stooped at one another, soared off in long spirals to stoop and soar and stoop again. One flashed by him, a golden palomino that shone like polished wood. The wind whistled in its wings. Away to the left, the cliff fell back in a wide crescent, and nearly opposite him a river tumbled over the edge. A pool on a ledge beneath caught most of the water, and there were hippogriffs drinking. One side of the broad pools notched, the overflow fell sheer in a white plume, blown sideways by the wind. As the sun grew hotter, the hippogriffs began to settle and browse on the islands that floated past. Not far below, he noticed a dozen or so stood drowsily on an island that was floating through the cliff shadow toward his ledge. It would pass directly below him. With a sudden resolution, Johnny jerked his rope down from the tree above and tied the end to a projecting knob on the cliff. Slinging on his pack again, he slid over the edge and down the rope. The island was already passing. The end of the rope trailed through the grass. He slithered down and cut a piece off his line. It was barely long enough after he had tied a noose in the end. He looked around at the hippogriffs. They had shied away when he dropped onto the island, but now they stood still, watching him warily. Johnny started to take an apple out of his pack, then changed his mind and took a piece of honeycomb. He broke off one corner and tossed it toward them. They fluttered their wings and backed off a few steps. Then stood still again. Johnny sat down to wait. They were mostly chestnuts and blacks, and some had white stockings. One was piebald. That was the one, which after a while began edging closer to where the honeycomb had fallen. Johnny sat very still. The piebald sniffed at the honeycomb, then jerked up its head to watch him suspiciously. He didn't move. After a moment, it took the honeycomb. When he threw another bit, the piebald hippogryph wheeled away, but returned almost at once and ate it. Johnny toss a third piece, only a few yards from where he was sitting. It was bigger than the others, and the hippogriff had divided in two. When the hippogriff bent his head to take the rest, Johnny was on his feet instantly, swinging his laureate. He dropped the noose over the hippogriff's head. For a moment, the animal was too startled to do anything. Then Johnny was on its back, clinging tight. The piebald hippogriff leapt into the air, and Johnny clamped his legs about convulsed muscles. Pinions whipped against his knees, and wind blasted his eyes. The world tilted. They were rushing downward. His knees pressed the sockets of the enormous wings. The distant ramparts of the world swung madly and he seemed to fall upward, away from the sun, that suddenly glared under the hippogriff's talons. He forced his knees under the roots of the beating wings and dug heels into prickling hair. A sob caught his breath and he clenched his teeth. The universe rided itself about him for a moment, and he pulled breath into his lungs. Then they plunged again. Wind searched under his shirt. Once he looked down, after that, he kept his eyes on the flutter of the feather mane. A jolt sent him sliding backward. He clutched the rope with slippery fingers. The wings missed a beat, and the hippogriff shook its head as a rope momentarily checked its breath. It tried to fly straight up, lost weight, and fell stiff-winged. The long muscles stretched under him as it arched his back, then bunched when it kicked straight out behind. The violence loosened his knees, and he trembled with fatigue. But he wound the rope around his wrist and pressed his forehead against the white knuckles. Another kick and another. Johnny dragged at the rope. The tense wings flailed, caught air, and brought the hippogriff upright again. The rope slackened, and he heard huge gasps. Sunlight was hot on him again, and a drop of sweat crawled down his temple. It tickled. He loosened one hand a dab at the annoyance. A new twist sent him sliding, and he grabbed the rope. The tickle continued until he nearly screamed. He no longer dared let go. Another tickle developed beside the first. He scrubbed his face against the coarse fiber of the rope. The relief was like a world conquered. Then they glided in a steady spiral that carried them upward with scarcely a feather's motion. When the next plunge came, Johnny was ready for it, and leaned back until the hippogriff arched his neck, trying to free itself from the pressure of his windpipe. He glided again, and Johnny gave it breath. They landed on one of the little islands. The hippogriff drooped his head and wings, trembling. He took another piece of honeycomb from his pack and tossed it to the ground, where the hippogriff could reach it easily. While it ate, he stroked it and talked to it. When he dismounted, the hippogriff took honeycomb from his hand. He stroked his neck, breathing the sweet, warm, feathery smell, and laughed aloud when it snuffled the back of his neck. Tying the rope into a sort of hackamore, he mounted again and rode the hippogriff to the pool below the thunder and cold spray of the waterfall. He took care that it did not drink too much. When he ate some apples for his lunch, the hippogriff ate the coarse. Afterward, he rode to one of the drifting islands and let his mount graze. For a while he kept by its side, making much of it. With his fingers, he combed out the soft flowing plumes of its mane and examined its hooves and the stickle-like talons of the forelegs. He saw how the smooth feathers on its forequarters became finer and finer until he could scarcely see where the hair on the hindquarters began. Delicate feathers covered its head. The island glided further and further away from the cliffs, and he watched the waterfall dwindle away to a streak and disappear. After a while, he fell asleep. He woke with a start, suddenly cold. The setting sun was below his island. The feathery odor was still on his hands. He looked around for the hippogriff and saw it sniffing at his pack. When it saw him move, it trotted up to him with expectant air. He threw his arms about the great flat muscled neck and pressed his face against the warm feathers with a faint sense of embarrassment and feeling tears in his eyes. Good old Patch, he said, and got his pack. He shared the last piece of honeycomb with his hippogriff and watched the sun sink still further. The clouds were turning red. Let's go see those clouds, Johnny said. He mounted the piebald hippogriff, and they flew off up through the golden air to the sunset clouds. There they stopped, and Johnny dismounted on the highest cloud of all, stood there as it turned slowly gray, and looked into dimming depths. When he turned to look at the world, he saw only a wide smudge of darkness spread in the distance. The cloud they were standing on turned silver. Johnny glanced up and saw the moon, a crescent shore far above. He ate an apple and gave one to his hippogriff. While he chewed, he gazed back at the world. When he finished his apple, he was about to toss a core to the hippogriff, but stopped himself and carefully took out the seeds first. Put the C's in his pocket. He mounted again. He took a deep breath. Come on, Patch, he said. Let's homestead the moon.