Tohr, one of my Dimenzhian griffins.

Tohr was hatched high in the mountains of the Dragons Jaws, perched in a tall tree surrounded by forest. He and his three siblings were quick to start the scrapping as soon as they could free their limbs from the egg shells - for whomever was the winner of the nest earned all the food. And whomever earned all the food, earned the right to live.
Tohr's cunning was a mark of his birth, and he used it to his advantage. His heftier brother was easy to throw from the nest after a little taunting at the edge. His thinner brother's throat fell easily in Tohr's beak. However, his sister managed to avoid him at every turn, but it wouldn't be long before she'd run out of places to hide.
Mother's arrival wasn't pleasant either. She nearly squashed her daughter while alighting in the nest, and just about snapped Tohr's head off when he approached to take charge of the first meal. Such is the life of this breed of Gryphon.
Father would never arrive - the males of this breed only mate to spread their seed, then move on. Any males that hang around are quickly attacked and devoured by their mate. The same fate could come to the mothers, should they not flee as soon as her young are old enough to fend for themselves on the ground. Yes, young would devour their own mothers as their first hunt if they can catch her.
Within weeks, mother's visits slowed tremendously. It turned from feeding her young, to checking back only to see if her nest was freed up again. Tohr spent his time growing hungrier, and stalked at the edge of the nest in case his mother would ever choose to wander near. The weak sister of his took to calling after Mother, chirruping and screeching miserably as the larger female fluttered past with stern eyes. Pathetic little runt. There wouldn't be much time before the older female would cut her losses and start a new nest if they don't leave soon. Something had to be done very quickly.
One evening, as the sun's light shrank to a low glow behind the mountains, Mother was swooping around in an effort to see if her young were still occupying the nest. By now, the two younglings were quite thin and feeling the burn of immense hunger. But their frail bodies made it easier to hide in the folds of the nest in an effort to fool the older female. Unfortunately for Tohr, she stayed just outside the nest, hovering with large wings but never landing. That didn't seem to stop his sister, though.
In a desperate effort to end her hunger and torment by her brother, the small female leaped from the nest, talons spread, small wings flailing against the wind. Mother's surprise caused her to hesitate, and her daughter tore her flesh as she gripped on tight, beak cutting into her throat. The two spiraled to the ground, not a sound made except for the crunching of foliage and brush beneath Mother's weight. That little flea-bitten rat had done it! And probably got herself killed in that fall..
Tohr quickly hooked in to the bark of their birthing tree and navigated to the ground, the smell of Mother's blood pulling him like a magnet. Specks of it dotted the tree all the way down, a more beautiful sight than any Tohr had ever witnessed. Well, aside from that look of shock on his mother's face as the light was cut from her eyes. Finally, his talons hit the dirt, and he approached the pile of feather and flesh to take his first bite.
But a hiss stopped him short, and he bounced back. A pair of very angry yellow eyes peered at him from beneath Mother's belly. The rat survived! But she could hardly move or breathe trapped there. Tohr softened for only a moment watching his sibling squirm. He knew she couldn't run forever, but it was quite a pity to see the brave huntress die like that, beneath her kill. Still, it was no reason to free her. In fact, her prize for killing Mother so valiantly was for Tohr to wait until she stopped squirming before he'd begin to eat either of them. Quite a note of respect.
Hours pass, and the night was in full swing before the rat suffocates completely and Tohr was able to dig in. After having his fill, he noted the problem with hiding the leftovers. Mother was far too large to drag up a tree or bury. So he settled for his sister, dragging her around to a good spot at the base of the birthing tree and putting her beneath a good layer of dirt. It would only be kind not to let the rat go to waste, regardless of how little meat she would have on her bones.
Mother and the rat continued to keep Tohr's belly full as he learned to hunt on the ground, and still to this day he keeps the skulls of the two in his hollow high in the trees. His birthing tree has long since fallen to a storm, but the memory remains as sure as the strength in his wings.