Oh gods! Llewellyn hadn't meant to stab the gryphon. He'd thought she would dodge! With a startled whinny, he lowered his head, and her with it, as gently as he could until she was back on the ground.
"I told you I didn't want to hurt you," he said, meeting her eyes.
There was no painless way to go about this. Best to be quick about it.
"Don't move."
Lightly pressing a cloven hoof to her neck to keep her still, he pulled his head back and slid his horn free of her body, cringing inwardly at the sight, and the blood. There was no doubt she'd be in agony, and left like this she could easily die; if blood loss didn't do it, infection would, or even starvation if she couldn't use her beak. But he didn't leave her hanging long, for not a moment later and his pearly horn was emitting a faint white glow.
With his eyes closed and head lowered, Llewellyn touched the tip of his horn to the gaping wound, and like magic, flesh and tissue knit back together, the severed veins healed, and not even a scar remained when it was done.