It grew bigger and bigger, plainly coming towards the camp.

It was as big as a moth now, now as big as a teacup, now as big as an eagle, and---- 'But it's got four legs,' said Lucy.
'Yes,' said the parrot; 'it would have, you know.

It is the Hippogriff.' It was indeed that magnificent wonder.

Flying through the air with long sweeps of his great white wings, the Hippogriff drew nearer and nearer, bearing on his back--what?
'It's the Pretenderette,' cried Lucy, and at the same moment Philip said, 'It's that nasty motor thing.' It was.

The Hippogriff dropped from the sky to the desert below as softly as a butterfly alighting on a flower, and stood there in all his gracious whiteness.