Delfen for his part is content to encourage the conversation along, and only gives Reed a nudge when the sky starts to darken. 

Oh crap it's almost time for the meeting!

"It has been lovely meeting you all, but I should really go, it's late and as you all know mages need their beauty sleep."

He tries to sneak as close as possible to the camp before they notice him. It's good practice; invisibility helps with stealth but not making noises helps way more.

He can get quite close! There are guards on watch, but their minds are occupied with the flight to come. 

"Halt! Who goes there?" Calls out the sentry who does finally hear his approach.

"Air and darkness! I was asked to report to the camp at sunfall."

"You were? Come on in."

Within the perimeter, they are readying themselves for lift-off. The outermost tents remain standing, the camp fires remain lit, but the menagerie of flying steeds are being loaded up with provisions and equipment. 

Thurl catches sight of Reed, and beckons him over. 

"You'll ride with Savra Belabranta, her griffon can take two."

He points her out to him.

"Happy to ride with her! Although - I must admit - I've never quite mastered the skill of riding flying beasts, so please make sure I'm tied down properly and it's safe for me to ride."

"I've used two firsts and one fourth today, my other slots are available for you."

"Just scream loud if you fall off, someone should have a Feather Fall for you," Thurl says, slapping Reed on the back as a half-shove towards his pilot for tonight. 

He's probably joking?

"I... do have Feather Fall. But thanks for the vote of confidence."

He follows the push Savraward, curious about the griffon.

"Good evening, m'lady. I've been told I'll be riding with you tonight. I'm Reed de Book, but feel free to simply call me Reed."

Savra wears a plumed leather helmet a little like a falconry cap, secured with a chin-strap, and she has a jockey's build.

She snorts. "I've heard worse noms de guerre. We've got a tandem saddle on Ponybane here, so you'll be sat behind me." 

With a pat to the tawny flank, her steed sinks down low to let him climb on. The saddle is a confusing arrangement of taut leather and silk rope, with just a thin blanket for comfort. 'Ponybane' makes a disgruntled clicking noise until she feeds it a morsel of jerky that it plucks from her hand with a beak large enough to chomp the limb off.

Nom de guerre? Reed is his given name! Well, no matter.

That is a big beak.

"I'm happy to be behind you." and further away from that maw.

He manages to hop on the saddle with surprising (1d20 + 4 = 20) grace, and tries to search for ways to strap himself to the griffon.

"Not that one, unless you want to spend the flight dangling underneath him. Hold still..."

Savra proceeds to strap him on, securing his legs to the griffon with separate loops for ankle and knee, then passing him a belt to buckle about his waist.

By the time she's done, the other riders are lining up for takeoff by a cleared stretch of ground, lit by lanterns on either side. Hippogriffs and pegasi first, then the griffons, and a young wyvern bringing up the rear.

He wouldn't mind spending the time under - not the time.

"Thank you! I do have Feather Fall, so in case of emergency don't spend too much effort trying to save me from falling, but it's nice to know I'm properly tied now!"

When they're into the air he'll attempt to have some chit-chat with Savra.

"Ponybane is such a cool name, where does it come from?"

Savra puts his arms around her waist and takes the reins once it's their turn to take to the air. Lifting off is an unpleasant experience, the saddle too minimal to help much with the chafing from the griffon's powerful wings beating, the shifting muscles of his back and his bounding gait. Once they're airborne, the movements are smoother, and soon they're soaring through the night sky, in the center of the formation of flying knights. There are scattered clouds, some low enough that their size can be appreciated as they drift past, but there is enough light from the moon and its trail of debris reaching the ground to glint off the river that they are following. 

"He broke out the stables when he wasn't much more than a chick, flew into the city and slaughtered a whole dray-team of ponies and gorged himself on them. Everyone on board the vehicle was cowering inside scared out of their wits when the grooms finally tracked him down. He's had a taste for pony ever since, if any goes to the butcher's near his hatching-day he gets a whole carcass as a treat."

Savra scratches the edge of his beak affectionately. 

"He's a menace, but he's my menace, and he can be a big softy when he's got a full belly."

He casually looks around the night sky, appreciating the view.

What the heck is up with the moon? Reed is about to ask Savra, when he realizes that it would give away that he's way more foreign to this place that he wants to let on.

"I'm... glad you keep it well fed."

"You and everyone else in biting distance!"

"How do you like the view, is this your first time flying? Or would you rather not be reminded about how high up we are?"

"Oh, they view is great! I can Fly on my own, but I rarely get this high - I only get ten minutes and don't want to also need a Feather Fall, it's uncouth."

"I'm also very much enjoying the company, flying with such a majestic creature - Ponybane is cool too."

It takes her a moment, then she laughs at his flirtation. "Ha! Just you wait, when we get to the Well we can show you some real stunts. How does your spell compare?"

"More convenient, nice to be personally in control, but also you can't do much in ten minutes. It's mostly useful for combat rather than travel."

It is a long journey. Two days' hard flying along the Delimbiyr to Secomber, where they restock on rations and feed for the mounts. 

("If the Council weren't so incompetent, we could ride the whole way on riverboats, keep the mounts rested and get there faster," Savra grumbles. "But without screening forces to sweep the skies and riverbeds for ambushes, we'd be easy targets for even a young dragon, so fly we must.")

From there, they bank South-East, three days over the seemingly endless expanse of moorland, devoid of any sign of inhabitation other than the occasional empty ruin.

(Inexplicably, on the third day there is another supply dump waiting for them, a small pile of crates on a relatively dry rise by an empty plain, with Dancing Lights signalling their location but no tracks or other sign of their benefactor. Inside the crates is elf-bread, stacks upon stacks of a sweet rolled pastry embedded with nuts. Thurl is not surprised, and informs the group that the new provisions can be trusted, but he is close-lipped on their source.)

The seventh day of their travel is a wet one, the sky above overcast and the ground below shrouded in mists. They fly through the drizzle between the two, navigating by compass and by the peaks of the Serpent Hills that are tall enough to be visible. 

A cry splits the air.

Then a gout of flame erupts from the clouds above as a red dragon dives at the flying group! Two pegasi and their riders plummet from the air, wing-feathers incinerated.