Contest Entry for a contest here: jessowen.com/contest/

I won third place! =D

The picture features two fan characters. The snow leopard is named Amala. The purply gryfon is Drifa.

In addition to the picture, I also have a short story (we're allowed up to 1000 words) to add to it. =) Enjoy the story below!

Drifa

“Tell me about the Nightwing.”
Drifa settled herself on the floor of the den she shared with Mother. She folded her pale blue wings along her back and watched Mother’s eyes mist up as they often did when Drifa asked for stories of the Nightwing.
“He was a benevolent ruler,” Mother said, waving her white, spotted tail back and forth. “Under the Nightwing, the gryfons sought peace.”
Drifa twitched the flight feathers on her long wings. She flattened her ears as Mother spoke of the Nightwing’s graceful flights under Tor’s watchful gaze. Her wings shuddered.
Mother finished her story and settled next to Drifa for the night. Drifa lowered her head, but sleep evaded her.
She shrugged her wings. Heavy, useless things.
She forced her eyes shut and dreamed. The same dream came every night. The Nightwing came to her. He instructed her. He taught her flight.
She knew it was a dream that was impossible to fulfill.
Drifa knew little of the Conquering. Her mother was pregnant with her when the Aesir invaded Sun Isle. Neither Drifa nor Mother knew why she fled so far nightward… so far into the White Mountains. Perhaps fear conquered her before the Aesir could.
Drifa’s mother sought sanctuary with the snow cats. A bold and deadly move. Only Amala – Mother – offered help. Drifa’s own mother, Sunnerva, died before Drifa even opened her eyes.
Drifa lived her entire ten years in the White Mountains under Mother’s watchful eye. Mother taught Drifa how to hunt and fish, how to tread the forest ground, and how to swim.
But Mother could not teach Drifa how to fly. The White Mountains had no willing teachers.
Drifa had the urge to fly, ever since her pale blue flight feathers replaced her baby down. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. She tried to fly. But her life on the ground made her afraid. She didn’t know how to conquer that fear.
Some days she cursed her wings. Cursed them for being encumbering and impractical. Cursed them for being the thing that separated her from Mother.
But some days she couldn’t curse them. Some days she paced around their den, wings wide open, praying that bright Tyr would send her a gust of wind that would finally give them flight.
But no wind came.
Drifa woke late one morning. She stretched and shook the kinks out of her tail and wings.
Mother was already gone. Likely off hunting. Good. It gave Drifa some time to think.
Her dream… it was so different than before. The pale gray Nightwing was there, giving her lessons, but then he disappeared. A younger, darker gray gryfon took his place. His face was so pleasant... so encouraging. And Drifa soared under his instruction.
But it was only a dream.
Mother walked in.
“Good hunting, Mother,” Drifa said.
Mother’s ears flattened. “Come, Drifa.”
Drifa blinked. “Is something wrong?”
Mother said nothing. She led Drifa down the path toward the edge of the cliff. Drifa’s tail dragged through the half-melted snow.
They reached the edge of the cliffs and looked down into the pine valley below. The Nightrun River waterfalled into the lake below. Mother sat on the edge of the cliff and Drifa sat next to her.
“It seems,” Mother said. “That the Aesir are not satisfied with conquering only the Vanir. One of Stigr’s ravens brought me word that they intend to claim all the Silver Isles for their own.”
Drifa’s muscles locked and her ears flattened. “What?!”
“Fear not. We have a great ally, Drifa,” Mother said. “The son-of-the-Nightwing is among us. Rashard.”
Drifa opened her beak in surprise. The son of the Nightwing!
“I did not dare to hope,” Mother said. “I expected Rashard to die during the Conquering. But he lives. And he’s gathering Vanir.” Mother turned to Drifa. “You must be ready to respond when he calls on you.”
Drifa’s wings drooped. When? “But I can’t fly!” she protested. “He won’t want me!”
“He will, Drifa. He will want all he can gather.”
“But--”
“You must be ready,” Mother repeated. “We will await Rashard’s call.”
But no call came. Weeks passed. The summer melt swelled the waterfall and river to bursting, but still nothing came. Drifa let her hopes die.
Then one morning, a frantic lion’s roar echoed off the cliffs.
Mother heard it first. She riled Drifa and the pair ran for the river.
The swollen river had caught a copper brown gryfon in its grasp. He roared and cried, barely able to keep his head above water.
“He’s heading for the waterfall!” Mother cried. They ran along the banks to the waterfall. Drifa felt panic in her bones.
“There’s no time to save him!”
“We must save him when he falls,” Mother said. “You must fly to him!”
“But I can’t!”
“Drifa!” Mother growled. “You are Vanir! Let your instincts conquer your fear!”
Another eagle cry. The copper gryfon tumbled over the waterfall’s edge.
Drifa shut her eyes. She didn’t have time to think. She spread her wings as far as they would go and pushed off the cliff.
You are Vanir. You were born to fly.
Her wings caught the winds. She caught the copper gryfon in her talons and they fell. He was so heavy! But she kept her wings open. She turned to the lake. They plummeted, crashing through pine trees. Drifa pumped her wings over and over.
Splash! She entered the lake at the mouth of the river. She kicked her silver-gray haunches and brought both of them to the surface. Within minutes, both gryfons were lying on the pebbly beach.
“T-thank you…” the copper gryfon coughed.
Drifa spread her wings and let water drip from them. She flew! She really flew! She roared joyfully.
The copper gryfon stood and shook his body free of water. “I am Dagr,” he said. “I come on behalf of the Vanir prince Rashard.”
Drifa mantled. “Drifa, daughter-of-Sunnerva, is ready to respond.”