Caught beyond hope of escape, Con the Gryphon surrendered himself to the quicksand and slipped quietly from sight to drown in its depths. The last bubble broke through the surface, and for a long time the little forest clearing was still. Then the light appeared: faint, flickering and inconstant as a will-o'-the-wisp, but with the warm orange hue of the lost gryphon's plumage. The size of a child's ball, it moved back and forth over the mire as if searching. Eventually it came up against a large rock at the quicksand's edge, and clung to it. A second brighter light appeared, identical in hue, and moved across to join it. Soon the mire was alive with whisps and blobs of orange light, forming over the gryphon's grave and then streaming across to the rock where they clung and merged into a shape that slowly, slowly gained solidity and detail. And a few hours after his demise, Con the Gryphon lay warm and alive and well-rested. It wasn't the first time he'd drowned, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but it wasn't too big a deal so long as his regenerative magic held out. Though maybe he should bring a lifejacket next flight, he thought sleepily. Or snowshoes or quicksand boots or something.

A little picture for the great  Con Badger with thanks for being a wonderful supportive fan. :)