Brass wyvern First encounter The history of our relations with nature, the wonderful, unique phenomenon we call life is sometimes truly grieving. The Tasmanian wolf, the passer pigeon, and many others are now nothing but past memories for our activities, with many more like the Galapagos tortoises, those almost adorably clumsy large living boulders, balancing on the edge of extinction. The fate of wyverns, these unique large flying reptiles with ancestry rooting deep in the age of dinosaurs, surviving the perils of the oncoming millions of years unharmed, is nothing different. These mild, intelligent beings of the air were attributed by the most unusual and dubious traits in the medieval age like an unsatisfiable appetite for virgins, and fearsome abilities like fire breath. The noble, the knights were proving their worthiness by slaying these beasts, which beasts in reality had no worse sins than occasionally snatching livestock. The lasts of the cave wyverns probably died or were killed about a millenary ago, most of them likely bruminating defenselessly in their hideouts for cold northern winters. Then followed the golden wyvern of the Mediterranean regions, whose slender body was plated with the most magnificent glimmering green-gold scales also displaying a prominent ornamental ridge, the probable inspiration of the dragons of Chinese folklore, to become history a mere century ago. The invention of gunpowder coupled with the age of explorations to spread the hunters lusting for their skin and trophies selling for a fortune called their demise. It couldn't save them that the United States, the first in 1843, recognized the need of their preservation, and vowed for it with many other countries following. Poaching continued and the already small, fractured populations were unable to support themselves. The last known captive specimen died in 1928 to leave us only with a handful of laboriously preserved dullen trophies to remind us our ignorance. What remained is about four thousand of brass wyverns scattered around over the savannas and deserts of Africa and some regions of Asia. They might have been saved by that their skin is monotonous, rather dull and hard to preserve, so weren't exposed to that much hunting like the golds. Over the ages they learned to respect gunfire: today, they impose little threat on guarded livestock. Ironically, what haunts them most, even more than the loss of habitat since the past decades is that with the advent of globalization, the change of people's attitudes, they became too popular. Many would like to see one for real preferably in convenient driving distance, and with the discovery of their timid, almost submissive nature in captivity, many embarked on serving this need. I am glad to have a good friend, Jake Murai, who eventually decided to settle in Yssla and joined the Brass Research and Conservation Fund. Yes, I admit I am also quite guilty of wanting to see one for real, however I hope that going right to the site, taking part in a volunteer program could justify this guilt. Where I was heading is the Arnold Camp, a field operations camp of the Fund, on the shore of the river Yukos, but otherwise a hell long way from everything else. It is literally situated in the middle of nowhere by human perception, however in the middle of a rich fauna with large grazing herds for wyverns to prey upon. Thankfully a small plane makes that long way about twice a week. It was after the rainy season, a perfect clean day to have a flight. I was used to flying, but never on such a rural service: it was all different, new, unique experience over a unique, gorgeous landscape with the peaks of the Central Rockies faintly visible on the horizon. I simply had to look, to see the land straining my eyes whether I could spot some of the ubiquitous wildlife of the savanna, a herd of gnus, zebras, giraffes or anything. To my dismay they didn't seem to think likewise about our passing plane. We were maybe about a half hour from arriving. I only noticed a yellowish glimmer and suddenly it was all there. A huge, I mean, really huge brass gliding no more than about a hundred meters from us! I only came to the realization of where the heck I am going now and that such a flying mass of muscle could even crash us! Like it happened a few times, although always with commercial airliners with the brass just being the wrong place the wrong time. He however was serenely gliding, clearly aware of our existence. A few times he would cross to the other side under us, frighteningly close. I was sitting there too scared to even make a move. It was stupid, and no-one gave the slightest note on the situation. Wish there was anyone in my immediate reach, but no-one, and I was too embarrassed to do anything. Like what could I ask? A sailplane sized yellowish mass, on wyvern populated land, and sure, ask the pilot or anyone else whether he didn't notice it. It was both majestic and utterly frightful. Thankfully as we started to descend towards the camp's small airport, he decided to leave us. For one part I really wished to meet him on the ground, for another, honestly, I really didn't. I couldn't make out however where he flew. "Don't ever do that again!" It was Jake, at least in part. He told me that was just a local wyvern, healed by the Fund "some decades ago", then stayed and got this peculiar habit that once in a while, he would just fly together with the plane. Also noted he just wanted to allow me to indulge my first encounter in full. Well, that was definitely something to be indulged. But at least I was there, and got to see one of them even before actually starting! The camp My immediate conception of getting to see more wyverns was shattered very soon. Actually, at the time being, there wasn't even a single one within the camp's area. Jake got on tutoring me, first of course answering my immediate questions on where they are which just about every outsider asks within the first ten minutes after landing. First thing, when everything goes well there are no wyverns settled here. There is but a single reason for one to be contained semi-permanently: if it couldn't yet survive in the wild for either a healing injury, illness or for being an inexperienced rescue. At this very moment it was clearly the "everything goes well" situation. Jake explained that nowadays they still follow two re-introduced to the wild a year ago, their handlers occasionally spending days out in the savanna. Those however ceased to return since months, and keep drifting away farther as time passes, which is good, proving they can live on their own. Before I would grow disillusioned even forgetting about the encounter during my flight, he added that there are also a few residents, three here, who live free but occasionally visit, and it was likely that one point I could meet one or another of them. Briefly, normally the camp's work would concentrate on tracking specimens within the region, either wild or released, partly assisted by GPS units attached to some of the animals, partly after observations, to learn about their behavior, interaction of other members of wildlife, and individual or population health conditions. Whenever possible, field work is conducted with wyverns permitting that which includes following past releases who kept accepting human presence, and of course, the residents. A good share of the camp is dedicated for supporting these projects, such as even having a moderate, properly equipped vehicle repair shop to be able to patch up the jeeps keeping falling apart in the harsh conditions of roadless wilderness. Then, of course, there are the rescues and occasional injured wild specimens, who needed local treatment, healing, and in the case of rescues, a lengthy re-introduction to the wild programme, primarily focusing on triggering their hunting instincts and developing their skills. In the immediate area, the airfield, there wasn't much suggesting working with animals. It rather looked like an airport, with four large buildings with huge doors spaced a good distance apart from each other giving the impression of plane hangars. I asked Jake what this was for in this middle of nowhere. He cleared me up by that the buildings mostly aren't what they seem like: they are rather used to house wyverns, to give them ample clean space even in the rainy season, should they need it. I could also spot an artificial hill, maybe about ten meters high, two small sheds by the hangars, a stubby water tower, then in the distance, behind some thorn bush fences, a windmill, not as large as those used on wind power farms, but still a remarkable landmark. Jake was leading me in that direction. As we approached, the fences turned out to be sheltering a tribal-looking village with many round huts. Just as we were passing through the gate, a group departed on a jeep, waving us a welcome and farewell. Those were from a nearby unrelated observation camp, now heading for the airfield to pick up supplies brought here by the plane. Introductions took place in a modest little assembly hall where I met Janet Murray, the head of the Arnold Camp operation. It was a calm day, so she took her time in describing the basics, some of which I extorted from Jake on the way, the rest mostly involving the daily life and precautions, such as to be wary of scorpions which may dive in clothing left in the open, and being careful about snakes. Then, the matters of work came. A day ago they got a call from Drino where an air acrobatic show gone bankrupt and was dismantled, giving up their wyvern, which was due to arrive in a few days. Two members were already on the site, negotiating, examining, organizing the transportation, and reporting back by their observations. We got the task of cleaning and preparing one of the hangars where he would be located, which was to be started promptly, giving me just little time to settle in one of the four bed guest huts beforehand. Not like I wasn't eager to start my actual volunteering, just a bit sudden. So soon I was marching back to the airfield in the party assigned to this job, under the thankfully not yet blazing heat. The place wasn't exactly dirty maybe by the standard of horses, however when it comes to cleaning a stable, you will get dirty no matter how "clean" it was for the start, and the word "getting dirty" is probably a serious understatement for describing the conditions we were in. If you think, well, a wyvern doesn't weight a more than a draft horse, think it again. Fifteen meters wingspan is a size to respect, demanding its place to spread out, and, to give him comfort, such a large resting place has to be prepared. They won't just sleep upright in little boxes. I wouldn't have thought just a little more than removing the hay would keep us occupied till sunset, but it did. It was a tiring dusty hell. I expelled lumps of grayish grease blowing my nose. A muddy brown stream was flowing down me under the shower, and not because of any bad filtering of the river's water. But these experiences are typical when working "out", anywhere: picturesque secluded farm houses inhabited by clean Victorian clothed farmers only exist in modern day city people's dreams of the thing who never ever had seen any more wilderness than the central park. Next day, after breakfast, reports on the newly coming wyvern got in. It was a she, as described in a severe condition, however her bone system seemed to be intact, and her behavior appealing, so the decision was to try. It was not an easy decision for the Fund at all. Wasting effort, and lots of money on one who couldn't be hoped for eventually recovering is a loss, one which may prevent recovering others. There were countless sad cases when nice and friendly behaving wyverns had to be put down due to their physical condition, but it allowed others to live, and hopefully breed, lessening the threats looming over the race. Now, however it was time to continue preparations, getting us soon engulfed in the odor of disinfectants and washing detergents in the hangar, while others gone for tending the stock: goats and bovines held in thorn bush pens around the village, and a group even out in the wild to examine and collect samples from locations where tracked wyverns likely landed. The weather grew hotter than the day before, even under cover it stalled progress, so between noon and mid-afternoon we got a break, also allowing the now, as I perceived, laboratory-clean interiors to ventilate and dry up. Physical work took its toll on me, so I just trudged back to the guest hut to have a nap before starting over. Afternoon was about furnishing a resting place for her with fresh smelling new hay, slightly complicated by that we also had to transport the bales from the utility hangar, so it ended up pretty much taking the entire remaining day. Outside the world was already starting to gain a reddish tint as the Sun was setting while we were finishing tidying up. Just about when I was thinking it is probably all done, nice, clean here, I suddenly found the light going dim. Turning back, I was shocked to realize that a wyvern was just poking its head through the doorway! I forced myself to calm down, guessing it just being one of the residents, and indeed, one of us, by the name Mark, was approaching her like it was all normal. He knew I was new, and signalled for me to stay where I am while gesturing to the animal which followed him outside shortly. As the Sun enlighted the body, I noticed that at least on my side almost the entire ridge was missing leaving huge ugly skin tone scars behind. Mark returned maybe about a half hour later, well in the dusk with two of the party already left for the village. I asked him what was about that one, which seemingly he misunderstood. "Sorry for that, I didn't intend to shake you off, she just doesn't like company. Maybe I could later introduce you to ..." I cut him off to clear it up, that I understand: I was rather shocked by the sight of her state. He let out a sigh, maybe a bit relieved by my reaction. "Oh, that was how the Fund received her two decades ago. Those heartless bastards named her Blondie, and held her on a neck collar which she kept escaping. You see, the wyvern's head is barely wider than his neck, so such a restraint is only held in place by the ridge. This is the consequence!" "She doesn't prefer contact. It feels like she only keeps returning for peace, maybe from other wyverns' harassment. Occasionally she had her neck torn up, mauled, only making the scars worse over time. Maybe they see the imperfection and attack, maybe some reaction like chicken's pecking, maybe just one particular wyvern picking on her: we couldn't discover the cause. She was always quite indifferent with our residents and rescues, and they never seemed to be concerned." It was depressing to witness this, how decades ago some selfish ignorant people could ruin this poor girl for life. I wished to say something reassuring, but nothing came in my mind. Mark finally noted I should go back to the village with the rest of us, and that I shouldn't worry, some occasion will likely pop up when I may meet a wyvern. I thanked, but wondered whether he wouldn't come with us. That was when I learned that he was the head handler of the camp, and now that a resident was staying, he also did along with the night guard. The next day was rather uneventful. Blondie left before sunrise, in relation to her, all we had to do was tidying a little up. They are thankfully clean by nature, usually the residents hardly ever leave mess in the camp, which is nice from them when it comes to tidying up, however it is also a nuisance for that they rarely leave anything for medical analysis. Uneventful, maybe, but not without work, of course. Some carpentry was due by the hangars and the water tower, a fence for a goat pen was waiting to be built in the village, along many other minor things which could always be done for the better. As usual a field research party left in the morning attempting to contact the released, and maybe most importantly, the organization of the Drino wyvern's transportation was ongoing in Janet's headquarters. The hot hours came upon us sweating at the airfield. Jake was with our group, and we decided to just stay there retreating in a guard's shed to postpone some woodwork to the early afternoon. We picked up some fresh bottles of hot water for it was still way better than no water, shared our tortured burgers prepared in the morning, made ourselves semi-comfortable on a battered springy bedframe left there without mattress to enjoy the little perks of life out in this nowhere. He worked in the Center at Jala since a while, but moved out here a few months ago for he wanted to experience being out with the wyverns, when Daniel, the previous field supervisor of tracking decided to leave because of family matters. We started talking a bit on these, such as I asked how his wife tolerates his absence, for which he just noted that she bears it for she doesn't believe he would be cheating her with Blondie, the only she-wyvern of the camp. The poor girl! Then, sinking comfortably into the wires of the bedframe, the discussion of course drifted towards wyverns and GPS tracking. Jake felt obsessed with just about every aspect of this endeavor: I felt like the Fund could hardly receive any better person for the project. He recited some interesting cases deducted from the tracking data, how most of them wander, follow the herds many hundred miles seemingly never establishing a territory. How some of them would keep meeting up occasionally for hours, seemingly irrespective of their genders, and how even after years of separation they would meet up again. It makes the impression of them having some kind of social interaction, the exact nature of which is still strived to be understood. He studied these and many other cases for long, matching up tracking data with the observations as a hobby even before he joined the Fund, and now it is part of his job. Another part is, for the hardship of getting a GPS unit attached to a wild wyvern without harming the latter, trying to identify and to some degree follow those by photographs taken at encounters. This basically means occasionally wading through dozens and dozens of carefully classified images of mostly flying specimens trying to match them up. "Their flight is wonderful! They can glide with an effortless grace, without a single flap for hours, I am sure they are enjoying it! Being up there all day, looking down the world, us, earth-dwellers trudging sweating under the blazing heat to cover distances they pass with such an ease like mere nothing! They have no barriers, they see while we are striving to find a way through the grass so tall that it would hide an elephant, they could so laugh at those puny beings when they suddenly find themselves ran down by a rhino!" "They use their entire body to control their flight, they are built for it! They can twist their arms to bank, bend their fingers to adjust the airfoil, raise or fold back all their tail surfaces to give them control or reduce their drag! They even use their hind legs to balance themselves! It is so diverse, so amazingly complex how they can manage their flight!" He got carried away describing their anatomy, even showing it on his own arm, noting how they retained all their fingers to form a bat-like wing, how it differs yet how their build still follows more that of large birds, aiming to be a perfect glider. I thought they can fold up their fingers, he however corrected me that they can't: the middle one forming the leading edge of the wing evolved to be rigid for more structural strength, the former joints still being visible, but incapable to bend. This is different to bats who even have two fingers here to shape this edge. Later, before returning to our woodwork, still eager to talk about flight, now having a pencil and some paper, he sketched up some quite nice references in mere seconds. He pointed out why bats and some pterosaurs didn't need tail surfaces: they all had their wing webs extending down onto their hind legs serving this purpose. The wyvern is different: the wings themselves especially when soaring can't provide control, so they need the tail. This, however leaves their legs free which they can use for hunting, occasionally even picking up smaller prey. He also mentioned one who lost almost his entire left elevator in some accident, yet was still flying. Apparently, with the help of the tailfin, the remaining surface was still sufficient for his survival. While it was impossible to do anything about such an injury, the Muara Camp, where this wyvern was sighted, tries to capture him to conduct a field medical observation and to equip him with a tracker. Drake My second full day at the camp finally ended without the sight of any wyvern, and next day, my third one also seemed to conclude this way. It was nothing unusual: we were here for them, and not vice-versa. Approaching late afternoon, however, Jake came out to the goat pen fence construction team and asked me whether I would like to meet Drake. "The who?!" Of all things, I simply didn't expect this to happen. He didn't tell me he was here. This rascal managed to conceal that from me until this very moment! Everyone at least remotely interested in wyverns at least recognize Drake by the name. He is practically the icon of the entire BRCF! His visage can greet you on about every leaflet concerning the brass wyvern, he is a symbol, no, the entire manifestation of perfection in the wyvern race as far as we know! The movie industry strived to retouch their mistreated actors lead by his magnificence! And this very hulk of condensed dragonlike essence was seemingly about to allow humble myself to cast a glance upon him! It was embarrassing, especially after Jake told me that the particular resident who crept me out on the plane was no less than him. I should have known! There are videos floating around showing him in flight, and it never occurred to me one could have that just by looking out of a plane's window! He was there, on the open field served as runway, sitting, wings neatly folded up, looking curiously at Mark who was gesturing something. He noticed us, and casually signalled we could come. It was a sight under the low Sun which just emphasized his splendor. The race may be named after the not so assuming brass, but here, now, for me it looked more like gold: an entire creature plated with the noblest of the elements, the dark base of the larger scales just further enriching the grandeur! And what a grandeur at that! We were small, frighteningly small in comparison to him. Shifting his position he laid down, resting on his chest. The motion alone gave me the creeps, especially as I came to realize just how large his jaw is in this proximity. He wouldn't bite off my head: I didn't quite have to fear of that. He simply wouldn't bother when he could swallow me in whole! However, he didn't seem wanting to do either, just eyeing us calmly in his rest. Mark suggested me that I could touch him. It made me a bit nervous first, but I soon got to feel Drake doesn't object. He suggested me to groom his chin. The scaly skin felt rigid for the touch, but soft underneath on his dewlap. "Don't just pet him, massage, let him feel it!". So did I, with some uneasiness whether I am doing the right thing. He narrowed his eyes, slightly opening the mouth. Then all of sudden, he just rolled to his back, like a damn huge dog! "Good, he likes you!". Mark climbed on the upwards facing chest of the now spread out wyvern, and systematically started to give him a good massage, which he apparently enjoyed much. "It is not just for the fun of the thing". Yes, even in these mild, innocent moments, bits of research was ongoing. He showed it promptly as soon as he found a tick which dug itself between two of the large chest plates. The scaly skin is mostly a live construct, with veins close to the surface, so, despite how rugged they look, wyverns are also subject to parasites. Collecting a sample of these, analyzing the blood is important to understand their biology, to track their medical history. There wasn't much to track in Drake's case though. He seemed to be naturally healthy, hardly having any problem during his already forty-two years of life in the proximity of the camp. Simply put, he was the strongest, the greatest of all the wyverns ever happened to settle here for more than a few years. It is also that he was the one and only to became a long term resident of those who were brought in from the wild due to some kind of injury. That's a dubious fame, only proving that captivity likely has a deteriorating effect for the entire life, no matter how well the recovery was apparently going. His majestic splendor, the essence of pure wyvern perfection is a warning sign set in live flesh, for all the world that they are meant to live free. It wasn't like that forty-two years ago when Arnold, just a measly three years after founding the Fund based on some wyvern research, and an attempt to re-introduce two confiscated juveniles to the wild, got a call from a farmer who shot one in protection of his livestock. Even then, the fate of the brass wyvern was dubious. They mostly learned to avoid livestock and respect gunfire, so such accidents were becoming a rarity, however it was also then when the new threat of live capturing prominently raised its ugly head. Thankfully, this particular farmer was aware of the problem, and seeing that the crash-landed wyvern is still alive, tried to cooperate in saving as much as possible. While the shot wasn't exactly aimed to kill him, it managed to deliver straight in the left radius fracturing the bone. It wasn't clear whether such injury can reliably heal, neither they had any real experience with an adult wyvern, but Arnold decided to give him a try. Thankfully the adopted juveniles to this point were doing well in the wild, so the newly arrived Drake could have all the time he needed. And he did. While he was mild, apparently recognizing good intentions, Arnold described him severely longing for being outside, to fly. He would keep gazing up the sky for hours, and as soon as his wing wasn't in pain for movements, he would want to try. The small artificial hill of this camp was based on Arnold's original idea, who previously observed how demanding the take-offs are, and how his previous adoptions attempted to seek out for chances of lessening this chore. He instructed the construction of a fifteen meter tall wooden tower, suitable for Drake to climb it, first, just to get sort of closer to his element, then to exercise himself in short glidings. It took a lot of dedication to keep him from attempting to fly too soon. Arnold literally had to live by his side for months, just to keep an eye on him. That time he would meet everyone in the wyvern's shed, which was likely the cause of him getting used to human presence. No less than about a half year was passed until Drake could take off from the ground without the fear of shattering the previously broken bone, but then he was fast to re-adapt his natural lifestyle. The situation of the Fund however was grim. Arnold wished to study the lifestyle of wyverns but faced with the problem that even his previous adoptions were increasingly harder to track, much less was it possible to do any sensible research on actual wild wyvern life. Unlike ground animals or even birds, they don't have any permanent place where they return. They don't even make a nest as they are oviviparous with the newborn traveling on the back of his mother presumably from the very first days. You only see them passing, and maybe if you are lucky, you find the places where they hunted or probably came down to rest even which is not a necessity. By modern day tracking it was proved that they could stay in the air for days, sometimes only landing for drinking and eating. Still, the wyvern is one of the strangest animals for that despite their huge size, we know very little of their behavior, and even that material came mostly from the Fund. Which Fund itself was in peril for the same four decades ago. Results were demanded: even knowledgeable professors of universities failed to acknowledge the enormity of the problem only seeing that such a large animal should definitely be easier to observe. Forty years ago lasting tracking devices were big, clumsy, and they just emitted a signal you could follow. There was no GPS, no way to tell where the hell the tracked animal was unless you actually picked up its signal and followed it to the site. Being desperate it was tried on the first two wyverns, but proved to be useless due to their flight, and one of the collars even broke off some spikes before they were discarded for good. In secrecy, Arnold trained with Drake, to ride him, not the way like seen in mediocre movies with saddle and all the accessories of a lousy western in a convenient upright position, rather like a wyvern chick laying flat on his back just using his hands to hold on for his dear life. Then, on a nice day as one could say, he went in a photographer's store, bought the smallest decent camera he could afford, and with little extra he set out for the wilderness. It was obviously not the first time he rode Drake this way but it was which made his endeavor known. He took shots from the back of Drake even as he descended on his prey: just imagine how rough such a landing is, and there is no seat-belt on the thing! He had a good affinity to choose what to spend the valuable film on, skipping on scenes which could be seen in movies, concentrating on the wild aspects. The photos broke the spell, although not exactly the intended manner. Arnold hoped for raising the attention of wildlife preservation, and he rather got the attention of the movie industry. He gave in, he simply had to in order to continue, however he had his conditions. First thing is that he strictly refused to sell Drake, no matter the offers. Then, he never ever gave the permission of carrying him anywhere he wouldn't fly to by his own wings. A notable movie from this era with Drake playing a major role was Forestman's Craze, everyone should remember the vain effort of Torg trying to tally the herds from a particular wyvern's back, always interrupted by an urgent radio call just before he could finish. Another was Damsel in Distress, in which the savior knight, as a twist of the medieval lore, would come on the back of a fire breathing dragon, played by him, to escape the Damsel from the castle of evil knights. By the wickedness of fate neither of the major actors of these movies live to this day except for Drake himself. Arnold used the money received from Drake's performances to sustain the Fund, looking after his first two wyverns out in the wild, and also adopting a fourth, again one confiscated. It is a pity that movie industry finally not only saved his endeavor in monetary sense, but also in the terms of real wildlife preservation, by the director Gary Adamson who conceived the idea of what would become the deservedly famous Flying Free. The greatest of that movie is that it as faithfully follows the real events as it was reasonably possible given the technology and possibilities of the age. Gary's dedication didn't even stop there: he managed to persuade Red Star to donate their twenty years old "aging" female wyvern actor, by the name Glaze in exchange for a share in the movie's production and rights. She didn't show a lot in the actual production, primarily played out from beginning to end by Drake himself, her roles being constrained to representing the other wyverns of the Fund. Even today, the differences are especially striking: the young Drake's unconstrained freedom, his behavior all coming naturally leaves Glaze's performance in the shadow. There was even a fierce lawsuit on this back then, furious disputes from the observers, noticing the differences, even going so exaggerated that Red Star demanded Glaze back, which, thankfully for the rage of the fans, didn't happen. After all, even this mishap helped to open the minds for the need of acting for conserving the brass wyvern before they would become history. History, indeed. Drake is a piece of living history by himself, took part in several other movies of the coming decades filmed in Yssla's wilderness, at a point even receiving serious threats of being abducted, which all he managed to survive intact to this day even outliving Arnold himself. He is considered old, even venerable by most, however the truth is nobody knows. His fame faded like that of an aging star, not for that he wouldn't be able to perform, rather that with the rise of the Fund, the change of people's expectations, and thankfully, for the advent of digital movie technologies his dubious role as a movie star is no longer demanded. At last, he can live the peaceful life of a wild wyvern to his heart's desires, the only notable remnant of his movie starring being his curious affection towards the coming and leaving planes. Old? Stretching here in the greenish grass he looked everything but old, at least definitely not old by how we would imagine the dread of aging, the tinfoil of wrinkles and hunched backs. If the Fund's assumptions are correct, a good collateration of colorization and age is present as suggested by observations so far, even much older wyverns could be roaming the wide plains without any sign of willingness to die. In short, Drake could probably outlive me, someone a good thirty years younger than him, he might be flying these plains even long after the entire staff of the current Fund is completely replaced. Yet he was just laying there, unaware of this entirely, living for the moment, in the present, seemingly not caring at all what was yesterday or what the tomorrow would bring forth, just enjoying the sunset and Mark's treatment. After the Sun went down, he gave way for a huge stretch and yawn, rolled over onto his chest, and seemed to be eager to move after his nap. For a moment, I thought he would settle for a hangar, however as Mark noted he rather wanted to leave, pointing towards the take-off hill. It was the first time I got to see one of them walking, at least first when I realized, grace and majesty put aside, how clumsy they are on the ground. Their limbs are quite long, the wings even folded up would seem to get in the way, like creation forgot they would occasionally have to change places without flight. The same time for the entire length of this short walk he wouldn't let his heavy tail drag on the ground, and held out his neck in such an arch like he always had to pretend the nobility of his breed. Honestly, this sight neared the edge of getting comical, seeing all this mocked up grace from a creature seemingly having some great trouble just avoiding having his legs hopelessly tangled up in his fingers before stumbling utterly. Surprisingly to me it didn't happen. On the hill, Mark gave some farewell pats, and in a few moments I couldn't make out, he transformed to the truly majestic beast of the air, raising with gentle flaps against the purplish tones of the late dusk. Maybe by my puzzled look, he figured out what I could be thinking, and on our way back to the camp explained some. It was just a common thing to astound over when encountering them for the first time for real. Today's CGI movies demanding lots of ground action from such a large flying creature typically end up using the template of the fictional six limbed dragon even if the original story was built over wyverns. One would get used to that these can walk around just as natural on the ground like they can navigate the air. Majestic, wonderful, and totally impossible for that even if evolution produced a six limbed reptile, it is unlikely that a suitable chest construction for a flying creature of this size is possible. So we have the wyvern with his four limbs who is definitely a living manifestation of soaring splendor, however is also a lumbering letdown on the ground. Truth to be told, that's solely the appearance, simply that with the long limbs very useful as wings and for grabbing the prey it is not really possible to produce the pleasant pace of a respectable ground carnivore. They however can coordinate their movements just perfect, which shows the best in their ability of running for take-off. They take a few strides to reach maybe around forty miles an hour, then unfold the wings, finishing it with a kick of the legs to propel them in the air so they can extort the first flap. Rough? Sure. Mark was one who knew for real that the wyvern take-off is indeed one bumpy ride. He was the one who Drake apparently chosen after the death of Arnold to accompany him occasionally for some life "outdoors", and as he put it, one's crotch could grow sore from all those landings and lift-offs to be encountered on such trips if all the other perils weren't quite enough. Captives The arrival of the Drino wyvern, by name Ikka, was arranged to after ten in the morning. Everyone was busy, a cow was being prepared to have her fresh food, the medics were tallying their stock to be sure of have everything all in the green, Janet jumped off from breakfast to catch the phone organizing the loading of the plane in the city. We were directed to the earlier prepared hangar to remove its roof. I wasn't sure if I caught it well, but Jake explained as we got ready for the job. Two of the buildings had the rear two thirds covered with white canvas similar to those of party tents, just laid over a more permanent structure, and as it turned out this was on purpose. Two African guys soon ascended inside to the top, securing themselves with climbing gear, but still giving me the creeps as they were casually hopping from girder to girder removing the supports. We got two tall ladders and were doing the same as far as we could reach. The problem was that it was determined that Ikka likely shouldn't even be tail-collared to let her walking relatively free outside soon, so an acceptable mid-term enclosure had to be prepared. These two hangars were indeed for that, just covered for protecting their structure and usually being more useful that way, especially in the rainy season giving more dry space for recovering wyverns to stretch out. Doing this was not even just for the mental well-being of her, rather also for that like most respectable reptiles, they preferred a good dose of ultraviolet light. So we were busy stripping the thing down for hours finally carefully descending the cover to the sides with ropes to reveal a large open enclosure separated from the earlier cleaned third by a large sliding door. Things were going fast from then: we were still packaging away the removed canvas when the arriving freighter's buzz started to linger in then dominated the air until it touched down on our grass runway. Someone was pulling near with a jeep, then we also dropped our now not quite important chore of tidying up, rushed to open the front doors, and very soon we could see the sedated Ikka pulled in on a special carriage so we had to join in to give helping hands navigating and locking it down in a corner of the room. Her condition was even apparent for me especially after witnessing Drake's perfect body. She seemingly had infected scars all over her along with several unusual brownish patches like some kind of disease seeped into her entire skin. Being done securing the carriage our work was finished, and for the already searing temperatures nearing noon any outside job was put to stall until the cooler afternoon hours. Knowing this I caught up with the veterinarian examining her, by the name Linda, asking about Ikka's condition. "It's infuriating! Those goons shouldn't have been trusted with as much as a little green lizard! Look at her, her entire skin is burning with infected scale rot! She had been kept in a moldy basement for the entire rainy season, how they could be doing that! With all the care it will take her years to moult this all off!" As she completed her check up, she described how she will need to be cared, keeping her clean, treating with various antibiotics for healing the scars, Betadine for the scale rot, and that until at least the worst of those mend she will have to be confined here on the concrete floor of the stripped down hangar to avoid reinfecting the open wounds. Even her descriptions sounded painful. She, upset by Ikka's condition, was willing to let some steam off as we returned to the village. "They keep and keep failing the most basics of reptile care! They may be semi-warmblooded, but they are still reptiles! They are killing them in a slow painful way by their ignorance! Soak them in moisture until they get all this scale rot, or let them dry until their skin goes brittle! Countless times we would find arrays and arrays of improperly installed measly Reptiligths claimed to give them proper UV-B exposure! Sure those are good products for tegus or monitors, but for God's sake, they are but tiny lizards to the brass! They wouldn't even consult zoos exhibiting Komodos to get some vague idea on the wyvern's needs!" "The worst is how everywhere they fail to recognize their need to get proper exercise! They need to fly, not once weekly, every day, to get their flight muscles develop the right way! Most rescues will simply never be as strong as a wild wyvern like our Drake since their muscles failed to grow strong, to balance their mass, to stiffen their skeletal system in their young days in captivity." She calmed down somewhat letting these out, and went on talking about some cases of confiscations, experiences, negotiations, drifting towards a related story from that other side. "Mostly we get our calls by the acts of animal right movements cooperating with the authorities to uncover suspected abuse, by the power of law, confiscating the captives. They are always too late for they shouldn't have been torn away from their parents the first place! Our members all over the world would go out to examine these cases to see what could be done. A lot of those it is simply impossible to hope those wyverns being able to ever live free! There is no place for them to be, they have to be put down!" "There were a few occasions we simply decided to let them be where they are, trying to negotiate so they didn't have to be killed. One I witnessed was the wyvern found on the backyard of a remote villa in Florida, owned by a couple with two young children, the wife inheriting him from her parents. He, thirty three years old, was kept there tail-collared for his entire life, never ever flown. He was weak with under-developed muscles and lack of structural strength to ever take off, slightly obese, but otherwise very clean and healthy unlike most other captives surviving to his age." "The villa's complete low floor was an elaborately equipped enclosure with a large basking spot under a monstrous high power full spectrum light installation, clean substrate, automated humidity and temperature controls. They had an entire closet of various supplements, nutriments, and health-care, the whole place seeming like designed and operated proper by a hired herp expert, something you wouldn't even see in zoos, and something which definitely cost a fortune to run!" "We carefully examined the situation including getting the contact of the expert, requesting and studying the medical records of him and found just about everything there, surprisingly all existing and tidy with a pedantic history of vaccinations dating all the way back to his arrival. It was something exceptionally unusual." "The couple clearly loved their huge pet with all the dedication, the wife sobbing for the thought of having him put to sleep. She told she could accept him leaving if she knew he was to be free, but he was all she had, she had grown up with him, and with the passing of her parents in a car accident only he remained. I could so much understand seeing her pain! I hardly ever feel sorry for rich folk with their pitiful problems, but theirs simply wasn't like any of those!" "To be throughout we were careful to examine the wyvern's behavior the best we could the occasions we were there. I can say he did seem to accept his situation. He was peacefully resting, basking in the sunshine out. Noticing us, he came to welcome serenely watching us with those big eyes, appreciating touch and grooming in delightful pleasure, so innocent and unaware of his impending death! He was kept on a long chain by his tail-collar, allowing him access to the entire fenced backyard even having a small pond. It wasn't probably necessary for he was completely unfit for flying, but at least he was aware of it, and would casually shake his tail to free the chain when it stuck." "It was pitiful to see a wyvern, a creature meant to soar, to fly free in such a perverted state, but none of us thought it right to kill him also ruining this couple's life who put so much in his well being on their own way. Doing that then would have been just the same selfish ignorant act like capturing them! He was cared for, loved, and accepted his fate, maybe completely unaware of how he was supposed to live if he was free. In his state this was about the best he could get." "So, finally, we found ourselves battling with the authorities and that animal welfare organization reporting the case to let them be in peace. It was weird, we, the BRCF, who otherwise would furiously promote the right for the brass to fly free, fighting for preserving the captive state of one! There, that was the right thing to do. It was just completely wrong to take his life for merely enforcing an ideal, however noble that ideal is!" I could learn that the Fund in the past decade successfully negotiated three such cases, one being a relocation, but failed with four others. The worst of those failures was when the zealotry of a particular animal welfare act ended up forcibly transferring a wyvern to a zoo, one which hadn't even got experience with large reptiles, and so, a half year later had to be put down due to his deteriorating condition. Even the successful relocation had its problems. All the cases were animals unable to fly, confined to a relatively small space, and in these conditions they can grow very attached to people looking after them if they are otherwise cared for. The relocated wyvern would become sullen, desolate for weeks until her original owners could have a chance to meet her. This is the she-wyvern of Zen Software Corporation, who since seven years lives in the large fenced office park of their headquarters. The corporation decided on saving her for fitting with the themes of their famous multiplayer online games, but to give them credit, they are keeping her in good hands, even constructing a large properly equipped indoors enclosure soon after her arrival. It also should be appreciated that to serve her mental well-being, they agreed to offer free lodgment for her old keepers which truly is a pittance compared to the total costs. Today anyone can visit this friendly wyvern in exchange for a bit hefty admission price, fair to prevent her having too much attention. By Linda, I ended up running in Janet, who told me she had a bit of spare time if I was interested in matters with the Fund or the preservation of the brass. She also acknowledged that I got to meet Drake, and suggested I could always catch up with Mark if I was interested in the residents. We exchanged a few words on Drake's history, nothing I didn't know already, then, still having the talk with Linda vivid in my memory, I asked about how wyvern capturing isn't regulated any better. "They fail to understand the state of the brass. We are trying to promote them to get listed in Appendix one of CITES since decades, but it all falls on deaf ears. Only about four thousand of them fly over this planet, yet they keep reasoning that they are large and make an interconnected, healthy population which saw fifteen percents increase in the past four decades so they aren't truly endangered. It's all wrong!" "It's only true for the past forty years. Only before the second world war their number were estimated to be more than ten thousands! They are vulnerable! Troops and fighter pilots were shooting these poor gliders out of their frustration just because they could! If the fronts were across this continent we wouldn't have any wyvern to preserve today! They are special. Just about every other endangered animal you would have to trudge through wilderness to kill them while the brass is clear up in the sky!" "We don't know how robust is their present population but its certain their preservation is a long term problem. They take around fifteen years to reach maturity, then almost decade to raise a single chick occupying both the male and the female. An individual has to live for at least three decades on average so their population can remain in equilibrium. The modern day man can ruin this all with a single gunshot!" "Capturing wouldn't be that bad today if only they knew how to breed them. Proper handling already helped in the preservation of many endangered species such as the Przewalski's horse. We would gladly support such an effort even if it was solely for lessening the strain on the wild population. The problem is that nobody ever succeed breeding them in captivity, nobody ever could even observe them mating. All we know is that in the wild the male and the female likely raise their single chick together. We wish we at least knew how they find each other, how they bond so we could have some idea for a start. Our old Drake is a sad example of a free flying wyvern with a perfect build of wild origin who never found his bride, and we don't have a clue where our connection with him went this wrong." "Despite our efforts we know frightfully little of their behavior and how interacting with us affects their natural habits. Until discovering more, all the effort with captives might be vain." We exchanged a bit more on the matter of captives, some experiences, related studies which brought up a subject about the now extinct gold wyverns. "Seeing people try to correct our ancestor's flaws is all noble and favorable, but resurrecting the golds by modern genetics is just something we couldn't agree to participate in. It is not such a simple deed like those promoting the idea see it. We are troubled understanding our present day brass wyvern who were supposed to carry out the gold chick. Even if it succeed, those needed a different habitat, maybe had a different behavior to those we know, and if they were any similar in lifetime, generations of continued effort." "I wish they rather chose a likely simpler and probably more rewarding case like the Tasmanian wolf. Those marsupials had a mere decade of lifespan and would likely be much easier to handle and care for properly than a wyvern, not to mention there are still occasional rumors of sightings." I liked this realistic approach, straight and fair. It was also a frightful revelation just how vulnerable our still existing wyverns are: they depend so much on our good intentions, to not shoot them in the air, maybe a lot more than any other endangered animal. If there was an escalating conflict in Africa they might be gone, and even if we had captives surviving we wouldn't have any clue on how to get them breeding! I could only wish it wasn't going to happen but it was grim to know that so far humanity couldn't even pass a century without a major war, not even a few decades without devastating conflicts. Just why all this killing and destruction! Later, the afternoon work session remained a bit hectic, finishing up packing parts of the hangar roof, relocating a huge freezer, transporting drums of gas for the generator which was used when the camp was out of both sunshine and wind for they had both the windmill and a large array of solar cells, then if we were so well in, an array of minor tidy ups concluded the day. Neither the residents made an appearance or maybe we didn't notice sinking up to the ears in our chores. Stories I thought it will just go on the same manner the day after, however the morning tasks done: assisting in preparing a good meal for Ikka, Jake caught me telling that I could get some time off of the hard stuff. Like whether I would be interested in the Camp's information center which was his primary duty. Of course I was. So we casually walked into the village where he all of sudden stopped in front of a completely unassuming hut, maybe just a bit larger than those serving as guest sleeping quarters for four each. "Did you leave something home?". "Nope" - he pointed at the wooden door's sign, reading "Track ng dept." with the "i" missing, and promptly swung it open pushing me in. Before I would realize where I was, he was holding two hazy glasses, declaring "But that's a close call". It was cold lemonade coming from the tiny fridge from a cozy little kitchen on the left, a surely welcoming touch of this little sanctuary. Honestly at first it was the only definite spot in the monstrous disarray seemingly plaguing the entire interior of the hut, crates stacked everywhere, the walls pinned with arrays and arrays of sketches and photos by some undecipherable order, desks everywhere with various appliances in various states of decomposing and recomposing, and on top of all some rack of humming computing equipment with several screens showing apparently nothing more than miles of numbers and notifications in various colors. Jake led me to the screens and asked whether I could see anything. Of course I couldn't. He typed in a few commands, a window popped up with a map I recognized covering the Yssla area up to the Central Rockies in the north, Arnold Camp crossed by Yukos in the middle, and a few yellow dots scattered around. He hovered the cursor on one of those dots, the status bar showing "3 (Drake); 8:27 AM". It was a bit after nine in the morning. A few clicks, and it transformed into a forty-eight hour track, clearly showing he was here between half past five and seven the day before yesterday. I asked him how he picked out Drake that naturally. He explained that the map is rather fine to examine particular wyverns and events, but that would be a chore if had to be done daily for all. They were building automatizations since the advent of GPS tracking to reduce the manual labor, to help them to focus on the interesting or problematic cases. He shut the map down, showing the walls of numbers again, where now I recognized Drake's entry with his most recent co-ordinates in a list of nearby wyverns. Other lists I made out were recent landings, meets, a list of wyverns on hazardous locations, a "pinned" list, reports of aging GPS units, and a list labeled "critical" which was, hopefully a good sign, empty. Clicking on Drake, various reports on him showed like last five landings, last meets with other wyverns, distance covered in the last day and last week, deltas on the daily distances traveled, estimated air time and such. Jake explained what are the data for like they could immediately know landing locations so a group can set off to examine those, could have some idea on how the individuals interact, matching with observations even gathering some vague information on matings and how the offspring is raised. The scripts also could reason out whether a tracked wyvern was probably having problems, became ill, couldn't fly, so they could act to save him in need. Occasionally tracking could even help in solving conflicts raising from a wyvern ending up somewhere he shouldn't. As I got familiar with the mess in the room I noticed a huge life-sized brownish plastic wyvern head and neck model partly hidden by stacks of crates, held upright on a platform by metal rods, and some accessories scattered around it. Closer examination revealed it being full of labels, notably on the face just about every scale had some identification which continued on the ridge, every spike neatly signed with numbers like "RRH" or "RM6". The ones labeled "RL8", "RM8" and "RR8" had some small holes drilled in them on their edges. It turned out to be serving two purposes. For one, it was a model used for plotting visual identification marks, for another, some time ago someone tested the fastening of some early GPS receiver on it. To my wondering Jake told that no, they weren't and aren't abused in this manner, rather deciding on epoxy from the start even though it would loosen and eventually fall off with the moultings. Helped with tight strapping it would suffice for a few years which wasn't less than the battery life of the unit. He picked up a tracker from an open crate, a fist sized oddly shaped black box with straps and an antenna poking out of it, and demonstrated it on the model. It would fit snugly under a spike. There was also a small full body model on a desk nearby, then a broken-off spike preserved in a jar, and on the wall, anatomy charts surrounded with dozens of mostly bust sketches with a mess of notes on each. They were identification assistances marking unique details on each of the wyverns tracked or otherwise known, like "RL1 missing", "Left nostril" or "Dark SE14", getting only more vague for me as I kept looking. Jake returned to the computer popping up some digital photos of mostly flying specimens, briefly retelling how they are attempting to follow even untracked wyverns carefully matching up observations. Seeing my interest in just examining the interiors he picked out a notes and seemingly started working. Soon a mess of images covered the screens, some details enlarged, occasionally he circled a particular feature like a scar, other times looked up on the wall of sketches for some hint, laboriously scribing in his notes as he made progress. Farther away a decade old calendar was dominating a huge disarray of photographs, black-and-white and color, the calendar prominently showing Drake, gliding, backed by the magnificent snow-covered peaks of the Central Rockies. I got to recognize Janet, Arnold, and a few more of the Fund as I examined those, events, historical or just familiar pictures scattered around those mostly portraying wyverns and a few other animals of the region. A black-and-white showing presumably the construction of the camp, a very young Janet posing with Glaze: "Our nice girls", then a little away, the full staff framed by Drake in the back, labeled "Half a century and still flying strong!". Kids patting a wyvern's snout, then a resting one with a cheetah standing on his back. This latter was interesting, reminding me some old book from BRCF's history, a chapter telling about the cheetah connection. It started with a rather typical incident. A Yssla Cheetah Fund member was sent out to Jala on a shopping trip, a good day's drive. There was no problem getting there, however the way back the loaded jeep's axle gave up in such an unfortunate way that it sent the poor man flying in a bush. Thankfully he survived it but with a few bruises, however he was stranded a good twenty miles from the nearest outpost. By luck, Arnold the same time was out on Drake and happened to notice the capsized vehicle, so could fly to get help from the YCF camp. This wasn't anything unusual: people help each other out in the wild. However, the same time, incidentally, a pair of juvenile cheetahs were also resting at the camp. Arnold cautiously directed Drake to land a good quarter mile away, however he casually followed in, walking. It caused some ruckus, the head of the operation rushing out fuming like now these wyvern guys think they have free passport to every damn place, after all it was just a year after the worldwide presentation of Flying Free, and sure there was some self-inflated hype floating in the air. It almost went unnoticed that all the time the two cheetahs didn't seem to be concerned by Drake's presence, which was puzzling knowing how nervous they get in the presence of other large predators: mostly lions and hyenas who would take their kill. Arnold however remembered the behavior of those and did some systematic research on the matter in the coming years. He eventually could even get to photograph a cheetah's hunt as a backdrop for the calmly resting Drake, which again managed to raise some attention and was a visual proof of that wyverns and cheetahs can seemingly co-exist in peace. It was a strange find knowing how furiously they might protect their prey against lions and hyenas, sometimes also quarreling with those without their meal at stake. Interestingly later even jackals were observed stealing bits of meat from the still feasting wyvern without him becoming concerned. Relying on these finds Arnold asked for some identification charts and data of YCF cheetahs, which, seeing the results, a bit reluctant but they provided. In the oncoming years he would cautiously document and photograph cheetah encounters on his flights also requesting other field operations to do likewise, which the Fund came to acknowledge and value eventually growing in a small but important joint project observing the future of released cheetahs. Browsing further through the pinned memories, I got to notice a black-and-white one showing a female wyvern with a small chick peeking down from her back, taking a bite of some piece of meat offered by someone from the staff in what seemed like one of the hangars with a note reading "Happy birthday, Juno!". Sweeping through the photographs there was apparently no more alike. I turned to Jake with this distracting him from his work, who told the story as best as he knew. The mother was Glaze about fifteen years after filming Flying Free, the only so far to give birth within the Fund, and with that also the only proven succeeding gestation in human proximity. However, a year after Juno's supposed birth she returned alone, ill, incapable to take off anymore and shortly after died due to a fatal kidney condition. It was impossible to find the little one no matter how hard the Fund tried so he was also declared dead. With today's knowledge gathered especially thanks to GPS tracking it is rather considered that the unknown father took the role of raising Juno so he may still be alive. Of course it is impossible to prove since he would be an adult by now two decades after the mournful event. Jake suggested me "Yssla's Morning Star", a book focusing on Glaze written shortly after her death, the only one describing this part of the Fund's history to the wide public. To my wondering why there weren't any more notable mentions, he told that he didn't much ask around about it, but it is very likely for the confusion about their breeding and family life. When that book was written it was still assumed that they raise their chick alone, even this being very unusual to any other reptile. Since then with tracking and more experience with released wyverns signs of some even more complicated related behaviors were started to uncover the same time the Fund also having its own troubles. Nowadays it is a wildly debated continuously evolving matter not only in the interest of the Fund, but also regarding the possibility of captive breeding. Even though they should be flying free, even though capturing should be regulated for good, it should be known how to care for them, how to preserve them if for any reason it became impossible to do so in the wild. It is also very important from the point of releasing which is still troubled by how hard it is for the rescues to find mates, how long it takes for them to become able to take part in the specie's survival. Poor Glaze's fate is a sad event on this long trail whose end still remains hazy. It is a necessity to settle with these acceptably to be able to relate to her fate, to tell the story of Juno. Jake didn't return to work, passing on from the memory of Glaze we kept on chatting over the matters of living out in the wild. Of course neither of us had any real experience, but Jake was here since a few months and could gather interesting stories even witnessing some for real. Out of interest and to share the burden he even took some turns as night guard on the airfield always by the side of an experienced man, but necessary to keep each other alert. Especially if there weren't any of the wyverns there which was common these months, many of the savanna wildlife could pay a visit. Noisy elephants marching for a drink from Yukos, lions spending the night growling and prowling around, an occasional hyena, jackal, a pair of young cheetahs and the likes. The worst part of camp life is probably snakes which could slink in anywhere where people wouldn't ever expect and they are almost always venomous. Being stocked up with the appropriate antitoxins and having an adept medic is simply a necessity. Mostly these invaders can be dispatched with the knowledge on how to deal with them without causing real harm, but when it happens it is the matter of life or death to have the proper treatment fast. Field work is the most perilous but also probably the most interesting for those who can deal with its dangers. Just a simple basic rule of the savanna to cast some light on what is awaiting you there: Everything can outrun you. Even the lousy fat hippo can reach twenty miles an hour for achieving the pleasure of rearranging your anatomy into a nice flat composition, and that's a really slow speed compared to anything else having horns, fangs, claws or trunk to test on your wimpy body. Of course neither of these animals would like to do these, but startled they might. Human simply haven't got the appropriate senses to avoid these confrontations the way like animals avoid along each other to coexist in their habitat. Sometimes there are even funny accidents. One day a jeep returned with the roof almost completely flattened, people rushed out to help, to tend for any injuries but everyone of the group were intact. It wasn't turned over by an enraged elephant, neither had an accident with a termite mound. A rescue noticed the group picking out her handler: she thought it nice to meet so landed. She was greeted, so long no problem, but then probably considering hitching a ride to a herd just like the old days when she was taught hunting, promptly stepped onto the parked vehicle without giving anyone a second to object. The car however wasn't a reinforced one to withstand a wyvern's mass, so she soon found herself in a quite embarrassing situation with all the startled people around. Revelations At half past three, as Drake's hourly sent burst of position data arrived, Jake noted he might be heading the camp, suggesting I could catch up with Mark if interested while he would finish his work identifying and categorizing sightings. It was a sleepy hot afternoon, even more so than the days before, glaring sunlight, seemingly just about everyone was indoors, resting, or maybe like Jake, doing something of use under cover. I found myself wandering alone somewhere between the village and the airfield when I noticed the contours of a large flying creature against the sky. I was there, as it suddenly dawned upon me, completely, totally alone, too far from either the village or the hangars of the airport to do anything, and it apparently picked out my hopeless solitude in the open, heading directly for me! Just what if it has any bad intention? I didn't even have a gun or anything at all to make some reasonable noise with! Stupid is not even the right word to describe where the hell I was thinking I am going instead of just looking up Mark in the village. Honestly I didn't even know where the bloody hell I was about to be going before it happened. Soon with loud sweeping flaps the wyvern landed right before my utterly startled figure, and indeed, it was Drake, or at least one pretty much resembling him as far as I could tell. He sat, seemingly examining, giving me the creeps, then looked up, around, like he was searching for something which apparently he couldn't find. It was hard to make out his intentions, even still only wishing he was Drake in my scared state, however he remained peaceful. It was sure a thing to have one of them this close, but honestly all I wished at that moment is teleporting away for I knew running would be futile and might even agitate his carnivorous instincts. Then he arched his neck lowering his head, pointing down in front of me, touching my chest with his cheek giving a gentle push. Not sure of what to do to save myself I carefully touched his jaw, not seeing him objecting gently starting to groom it. Apparently pleased he slowly narrowed his eyes for a few dozens of seconds before dropping down on his chest, extending his neck, and to my shock his arms forth so his claws met in front of me laying on the ground. I was confined to the tiny space by his chest between the arms, the entire wings spread out around! He shook himself once and again, like demanding me to continue massaging the soft underside of his neck, which, what else could I do, I obediently continued. Awesome and all, seeing how his huge majestic creature was pleased with me, and hell scary. I felt like he was just preferring to have a good treatment before his dinner with how he was purposefully constraining me. It felt like hours for me until Mark appeared. "Damn it, Drake, let him go!", he shouted and gestured and so Drake finally submitted, "you know we love you, just stop being so pushy, for God's sake!", then as I finally stumbled out from his prison he gave the now sullen wyvern some reassuring pats. "Honestly, I can't make out what's with him in since last month. He would pop up and demand anyone he sees to groom him if I wasn't in his line of sight! Of all the people, two weeks ago we had to free the chef from his clutches!" Walking towards the take-off hill he kept fuming. "Sure, you are the big hit of this hellhole, we all love you, but oh, come on! There is a point, you know, and you're crossing it, but hey, damn it! You shouldn't act like I don't love you anymore!". Then, probably because there was no one else nearby who would understand language, continued to me. "Wish this isn't again something for the loss of Arnold. It was five years ago already! Maybe I shouldn't try to let him go after he seemed settled. He would fly back to Jala and sit on Arnold's tower like every second night. For God's sake for twenty years he never flew there until Arnold lived! I let him fly me where he wished, tried to understand and see! If only they could talk! He would just lay there and gaze the moon, wish I knew what was in his mind but I couldn't! They think, they feel like us, damn, I swear they do, I see him do, just we haven't got the key! There is something with him I so wish to understand and I can't!" I marched, struck by this outburst of emotions which I unintentionally happened to stir up. I was an outsider. The weight of life, a life out in the wild cut deep in my shoulders, a huge packsack of all the essentials for ages of endless trudge which for a moment was handed over to me. They are here, out, for many years, see, sense these wild creatures, tune to their mind, to understand. It was like an untreatable illness of a loved one, someone who knew for your life, and had no means for saving. It's just the more cruel how perfect this particular being looked from the outside, yet something, maybe the very death itself was clutching onto his soul. We reached the hill where Drake dropped himself on the ground rolling on his back, apparently demanding treatment which Mark begun promptly. I, too, sat down by the wyvern's now upside down head, with one hand grooming his exposed dewlap. Then with the previous sullen mood apparently swept aside, Mark queried what on the holy Earth was I doing out there if he could ask. Uh-oh, so here comes the reprehension. "Well, to be honest, I was looking for you, and just got a bit disoriented.", "No, it's all right, it wasn't the Sun", "Okay, I was plain stupid". Well, there was an informal directive that every group should carry at least one gun even when just covering the measly distance between the village and the airfield. Not much, but it is still the wilderness even under daylight and something may happen. Truth to be told, it is not always followed so Mark let it passing, even noting that maybe it was the better this case. He probably thought about what the sound of gunfire could have done to Drake. With this it was settled. Maybe a hour later we were sitting in the shade of the hill, Mark teasing the still spread out Drake who would gently try to grab his hand or just let him wobbling his head by his upper jawbone. It looked all innocent except if one knew that the wyvern's biting force was par with that of large crocodiles. But he was all mellow barely flexing any of those deadly muscles which could extort forces sufficient to snap clean off an entire limb. Amazing and hell creepy, somehow even though I was here in the proximity of one of these creatures so honestly it really wouldn't matter if he had any bad intention, I just wouldn't have the guts to poke my fingers between those jaws. The teasing agitated Drake to eventually wake up, eager to show a little more activity under the more pleasant temperature of the late afternoon. Mark crouched down in front of him, sort of mimicking his sitting posture, which he apparently caught. Mark turned his head left, the wyvern followed. Mark stood up onto his hands and feet, and he was followed. He sat again, lifting up his hands, and again he was followed. Extended his palms, the wyvern extended his wings, now resembling a huge phoenix, one wonderful sight under the low sun. Then he crouched down again, shook himself, and it was over, however Drake was still eyeing us all curious and eager. I realized he was looking at me, very much like expecting something to happen! A little unsure, I cautiously crouched down to mimic his current position, observing him. He started moving before I could think of anything, and, astounded, I followed. He sunk his chest, neck expanding forth, back arched, some threatening position, but he curiously watched me, and I could see he was pleased as I did the same! I was pulled by the events, hardly realizing that I am mimicking a damn animal, one who expects me to mimic him! He would lift his hands and feet, looking all menacing, waiting me to follow! I did, I felt I simply had to do it, it was like a weird dance led by a true shaman, one who could really do the magic of conjuring the ancestors! Under his lead, we even got to play out a half circle, I had seen him getting more and more involved in the act, lowly grumbling, spikes raised, but with half eye seemingly always on me, like making sure I am doing the right thing! I got to almost forget where I am. I was not in Yssla anymore. I was on a black mountain, stormclouds gathering, a menacing castle looming upon us, a swirl of dark beings, ghosts erupting from the center! Then, all of a sudden, he stood, the majestic phoenix position, staring right in my eyes, like waiting for the key, the major ingredient to break the rule of evil for once and all! I hesitated. I was indulged in the tornado of dark beings, the golden dragon, a true dragon raising in the middle, pure light! Then, I did. With full force I flapped down my arms with the extended fingers, and got to see the dragon so eager to erupt finally breaking the spell, raising to the sky! Because he was indeed doing for real which I only realized after I snapped out! He was in the air soaring, gliding a circle, head raised! There wasn't time for concluding anything, I barely collected myself when Mark pulled me noting Drake just spotted Ikka, and was descending for the hangar. I had seen the confused look on him, and that he wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen, and that, here and now, was definitely not a good thing. We rushed. Nothing, though. It was all normal, like nothing at all happened, like it was all a daydream a few minutes ago. Drake just rubbed his chin to the structure across which Ikka was doing the same, they walked up and down for a few turns, nothing exceptional, just like acknowledging each other's presence. He was very calm, something like after a job well-done, tired and confident. Maybe a quarter hour later, with the Sun setting he slowly walked up the hill with us, and with some good strides he took off to finish his visit at the camp. We looked at each other with Mark, noticing the same utterly confused complexion. Without saying, we both acknowledged a huge, erupting "What was that?". It was embarrassing to explain, but, especially after Mark's earlier outburst about Drake's behavior, I decided to tell him the whole thing the way I lived it through. Also that it was something I will hardly ever forget as it was something I wouldn't ever believe to experience with a non-human being, though maybe my own imagination was playing tricks upon me. Mark, knowing Drake's history, could set some of the pieces together from this performance. He didn't ever see it for real for that he was merely a boy when the original events happened. It was the canceled movie "Dragon's Dawn": canceled due to an argument going fierce between Arnold and the movie's director. That was over a key scene in which the dragon, played by Drake, would have to lift off from standstill. Arnold's statement was that even if a wyvern was capable to do this feat, that must not be Drake, not even if he could be persuaded to do it by his own will. Drake, despite how perfect and flawless he looks, still had a history of a broken wing-bone, by which it was understandably deemed unacceptable to let him extort so much stress like this feat demanded. It was never got to known whether this was taught to him or not, for that Arnold wasn't always at the scene to supervise. By Arnold's conditions, he must have been kept free to fly by his will, and so it wasn't like he couldn't just leave if he didn't like his handling. This liftoff was so wonderfully flawless, him pushing with his legs for the jump, continuing with the tail, flapping down the fully extended wings the right time with the right power to succeed, the tips just short of reaching the ground, then processing for the no less demanding further flaps until he gained momentum, that it definitely suggested he actually knew how to perform it the right way. Instinct? Patrice? It wasn't ever observed with any other wyvern, and it is nigh unbelievable he could do it if he last done it only decades ago. "Drake, you timeless beast of the air, you just never get old!" The rest of the performance was puzzling, but at least not as insanely unbelievable like the take-off, except for the fact that he was playing out those seemingly out of context, for some purpose only he could conceive. The threat displays themselves were something wyverns occasionally observed to be doing in brief ground quarrels, and some other elements, like slowly covering a circle might have come from one or another movie again. The whole thing was just a play, something Mark was doing with Drake since he seemingly had fun in it even though it was a decade since he last needed to use it for real performing. Drake would sometimes carry away with it, but never like this. It was maybe that he just wasn't a good role player and couldn't trigger this side. After all, he never knew Arnold's relation with him in full. We spent a good time talking in the evening, Mark telling some more on the history of Drake and his movie career, mostly things which he could relate, or was astounded to trigger during plays. Then, puzzled with all my earlier impulses, I asked him how he ended up with Drake. No pression, I added promptly. It was late night. "Honestly that's one huge mess. You did something to him this evening I fail to grasp, a small part of his being which, all the years aside, he didn't show to me. I tell you. The Fund may look all well and confident in its goals to the outside, but I feel like Arnold heritage still haunts us." "Drake... He became part of my family during these years. He is not just a wyvern, not in the sense like I thought when I came. Not even like what they meant to me after accepting Riko's passing, when I felt like never again. He just isn't an animal, more like an overgrown child with a hopelessly tangled up past he is unable to convey by words, and I am unable to comprehend. I like, no, love him, like a father could his child! I am delighted to see when he is happy, content and playful, innocent! Then, all of nowhere, something would surface, some incomprehensible fragment of the past haunting him which I am unable to put together. I hope he doesn't understand, that they are just memories, reflexes he recites without knowing, but sometimes I can feel the depth, that something is there in him: thoughts for which he is seeking answers he can never get." "It was a disaster five years ago. We lost Arnold, who was like the essence of the Fund itself. It took weeks to acknowledge this loss, but the lead, people like Janet, were determined to continue. I wasn't there. To be honest, I was a screw-up, still unable to let Riko go, she was my responsibility, and I would still cling onto the tracker to see whether she is doing all right too much. I would linger in the camp, doing my duties, tending the residents when they were here, but everything was distant, hazy." "Drake was, of course, here. He was sullen, and seemed to only get lower. I took care of him, just like Niktox and Blondie when they were present, but still seeing Riko in my mind. Probably all this releasing to the wild just wasn't for me, for I was emotionally too bonded. Or maybe all that mess together." "Things just weren't right. There were fights, within this camp, and between the other two camps. It was terrible. Fuel failed to arrive, we were out of a few essential snake venom antitoxins for the most criticals. Muara canceled field work, and an inexperienced rescue left alone out got severely mauled in a hunting accident. Maybe Janet did the most to consolidate the situation. She would come to me, and declare that I am going to do something about Drake." "I didn't like this authoritative tone of her, but came to realize that she was right: she just tried to set things straight, to save as much of this sinking boat as possible. I tried to shake Riko out of my head to do my duty. Honestly, I did see it that way those days: a problem at hand to be solved to get us on course again. But I hadn't got the slightest clue on how to start, as it soon dawned on me that just trying to be with Drake wouldn't get things very far." "It was not like I didn't read a huge lot of the Fund's works: Arnold's works, but when I did, the deep connection with that Drake himself who was here never dawned upon me: they were distant, a different world, and the manifestation of Drake, who I rarely seen for my field work with Riko, didn't quite connect. I collected a bunch of those, even taking out field diaries left behind by Arnold, and buried myself deep in. They were... Shocking, a terrible lumbering mass to crush down upon me with all its weight." "Drake is old, frighteningly old if you come to realizing it. There is not a single person, no, not even a single thing in the Fund which would be older than him. I was reading those works, Arnold's diaries, starting to see connections, links between the events of history dating way back before my own birth, observations along those links. It was menacing, like getting stranded out in the wild without even a flashlight knowing that it was all in him. But at least it got Riko shaken out of my head for good." "I started to regard him different. His history got me pulled in. The same time he was going down in his sorrow. Seeing that alone, here, was a thing filling our hearts with grief. I tried to be with him more, I was with him whenever it was possible. If he stayed for the night, I was there, sitting in the hay, reading the diaries. I attempted to make the connection which he kept refusing. I was even trying the mimicry game, with no avail. His mental state started to seep into me, it was all monstrously overpowering with those readings. I started to have dreams, nightmares." "Then, one late evening, Janet came up on me. She was all the headwoman of the operation, the dictator, a self-appointed captain with a firm grasp of the wheel in the storm, and now she was under herself. The Fund was going down. The accounts were bogus, heaps of money gone missing in the disaster, the Muara incident, a handful of GPS signals lost with the whole tracking operation in a state of disarray. Our credits were bleak. This far she could cover up the problem with Drake, but seriously, the Fund couldn't afford to lose any wyvern, much less Drake himself. She demanded to know why on the Earth couldn't I make any progress. It was fair. I tried to explain her as short and brief as possible. She understood, but it was quite apparent it was an uneasy revelation. She wasn't a wyvern person, and neither had any clue of this hell." "I felt like insanity was growing upon me. As I desperately tried to interact with Drake, I noticed I was getting more and more visual. This was unlike anything before. With Riko, I knew what I was doing. With Drake, I only came to realize later. I would keep trying things I read about, straining to guess what Arnold might have done, of which there were barely any recordings." "It came slow, but eventually it did. I stressed myself to notice every little detail, hint of movement, and got to sense, then feel when I managed to make that connection. I clung on those moments striving to extend them. Then, I noticed myself doing something like you were doing with him today, just a lot milder. I made motions to follow his, and he appreciated. It was long, tedious, seemingly they had some sign language with Arnold which he never described in his works, and I had to figure all that out after his responses." "Probably you see by now, but just to emphasize how hard is to understand and communicate with Drake, notice how rigid is their face. Almost like a sculpture: no lips, no ears, no flexible skin anywhere. Little details, maybe. With Riko, I didn't realize it so much, but with Drake, sometimes I am really there that I so wish to know what he is thinking, yet he has no means to talk, neither much to express himself. I believe we can mutually feel each other fairly well for most part, but there are the times when it just doesn't work, he would just stare me, the distance, with something in him he can't share." "Maybe I see too much in him, however sometimes its just strange. Arnold's heritage is still here entombed, you had seen today. Only he knew what was probably within." "It wasn't even me who initiated flying. When we got more familiar with each other, and apparently he was starting to regain his normal composure, he began to act before he would leave the camp, like mimicking a take-off but returning, flapping his wings for me, pretty obviously trying to get me in flight mood. Consulting Janet, I decided to try. It wasn't some simple decision. Even in the late years, Arnold spent nights out with Drake, and earlier even weeks. I wasn't sure if he accepted me on his back if I actually tried, much less what would happen if he did and simply decided not to return for days. Despite all my efforts to figure out how exactly Arnold was interacting with Drake in the air, there simply weren't enough material on this, and I couldn't either know how much was he affected from planes when he was filmed. So I packed up light, but good, thankfully at least in this regard I could use Arnold's notes. Moreover, we had tracking and useful radio thanks to modern technology, so it was possible to ask for help if I was stranded out somewhere." "So, with the decision made, next time Drake got eager to fly, I tried. He remained calm as I stumbled myself up onto his back. I felt like the little kid who for the first time would hop on a carriage of a coaster with the mild, completely unassuming name of Ravaging Beast, just without the straps. His body was large, absolutely nothing to grab or hold onto. Following the photographs, I tried to adapt Arnold's position, firmly grasping on the muscles of the shoulders, getting to lay over the spine. Even before I felt any confident in my ability to stay on, Drake decided he is good to go, and aimed for the run! Honestly, I wished to cry out for him to stop or at least if I was actually secured somehow on his back, but that was too late! It was hell. My body lifted and slammed against his spine repeatedly, my fingers strained unsure whether I am still holding on or slipping the wildly flexing musculature. Then, before it could overcome me it went all calm, under my palms feeling gentle, almost massaging motion, but otherwise my entire front was sore." "Flying! I still didn't look, but the realization filled me with both awe and fear. I was laying there, afraid to shift my position too much, hoping my pains will lessen, thinking I sure did something quite wrong to get all this. My curiosity, and the soothing breeze of air took over, after all I still lived, and where I was! For some minutes I was just feeling, indulging Drake's motion, looking out by the sides, the sky over the expanse of the wings, then pulled up to get some idea of our position." "I don't think it is possible to describe what it is like to one who never flew free! We were high, awful high at least as it seemed for me, and somewhere which could have been just anywhere by my recognition! His living body breathed under me, wings extended, gliding with an occasional flap, it was astounding to feel all those tiny movements under the skin as he controlled his flight! Its amazing, that's flying, not when one just watches the passing lands from an airplane's windows! I didn't care I hadn't got the slightest clue on how I could control him! Honestly, it was hell scary, to be stranded up in the air, since yes, I was there, stuck, left to his good will, but it was just as wonderful to be up there with him! What on the Earth is a wyvern if not flying, and I was there in his element by his own will! I looked at this entire effort like maybe any other airborne animal's conservation, just hoping to see them soaring, to see their wonder, but never ever in my life expecting I would be right in that wonder one day! And I was there, carried high up the skies!" "Those were the days of hope. Finally, we started to see light, future, with all the problems still looming over us, dark shadows, but thin rays poking through those menacing stormclouds! I let Drake carry me wherever he wished, to have it by his will for months, seen him at last enjoying himself, a confident serenity engulfing his being just the way it was supposed to be. I was elevated to experience him, it made the connection, the bond between us. We were out, and I finally got to feel that tremendous history of him reassuring, losing that impending overpowering monstrosity of months before. I was living in it now: it was the present, but also the past, memories, stories Drake was probably unknowingly recalling. I was daydreaming, unsure whether I was indeed Arnold, decades ago, doing the same things together with him." "We talked about those with Janet who, by her determination and labor then became the accepted head of the Fund, but mostly this camp, and also with some of the other experienced wyvern handlers to share our discoveries. Nobody expected Drake being this complicated. Truly for maybe everyone expect Arnold himself he was just one of the old residents, one who enjoyed more human companion than typical, but nothing unusually extraordinary. We accepted and liked him the way he was, enjoying the time he spent with us, the moments. It was only after the disaster when we came to realize how deep it all rooted." "Revelations went on for many days, to find out how to relate to Drake within the new Fund. We all agreed Arnold's way, with respect and all, just must not be continued. It is not known how long they could possibly live but it may well be over a century. We wish to see that, a hundred years flying, but had to realize that it's beyond our reach. Drake was still the majestic flawless being despite his age, an age by which we would start to be wear out badly. I would be seventy by then. I wish to live for that but I had to acknowledge that I just won't be able to accompany him by then if he was still flying. Nobody could say that. Who was to handle Drake in his elder days probably was yet to be born. It simply had to be prevented that he got so dependent on any of us like on Arnold, lest the sorrow over the loss would destroy him." "There was another severe matter with him that he didn't ever mated. For long it was though he was doing well, after all he flew free and spent weeks living on his own, but tracking research started suggesting there was a problem. We knew for long that wyverns carry their young chick on their back, and later fly with him, for a lot of observations even dating back into the ages when golds were still roaming free, but it was always thought those were females. They however weren't. We received dozens of confirmed wyvern sights with chicks, of males equipped with a tracker. If Drake was ever to successfully mate, he should have been raising his offspring which he didn't do. Even if he actually mated it was puzzling why he wouldn't behave like others, why he would leave the female on her own." "Flying and all, its nice, but Drake is far more important than that. He is strong, a perfect manifestation of his threatened race, it would be the greatest sight to welcome him one day as father! I would accept him going if I knew he found his true purpose, to see him grown up, to live his own life! He is not only strong, he is wise, he knows how to hunt for real, to not be bold, to avoid dangerous confrontations in the wild. He pays great attention to prepare, to plan, to observe, to see any threat, proven by his still flawless body. Rescues would rush in occasionally picking on too large prey, quarrels with lions, and doesn't understand no matter their size their bones are fragile! We pulled back too many of them to mend broken limbs and we can only hope they grow wiser with time! Drake should be out there teaching his child how to live a wild wyvern's life!" "Yet, we strive to understand, to be patient with him. He shows he needs me, longs for me to be with him, and grows confused if I restrain myself from giving him the time he demands! Its painful to see but we all hope it could help him to focus away from us, maybe finding a nice young girl for himself he so much deserves! I truly hope it will be that way. It would be saddening to have to acknowledge it can't happen, but have to prepare for that, too. He so much grown to us and got so much stress in the late years." It was dense, to have such an insight in the Fund's life, seeing this many troubles under the apparently clean and tidy surface. We kept on talking long into the already late night, carrying us away. Mark would relate recent history, the long and tedious work of untangling the awfully centralized structure of the old Fund with all the impending problems storming on each front all the time with the occasional accidents of life out like snake bites and rhino encounters. It wasn't just a month of troubled age. It went on for long years, something always coming back, and the lost reputation having to be slowly, laboriously rebuilt. "I can't put when I could say it was over. There was no such thing. I am still unsure whether we settled with everything. If anything, that was maybe Sixty Years Drake. As I got confident understanding him, and the most immediate problems of the Fund contained, we decided to do it. We had to show something to the outside world, to the general public, to prove we are still flying strong. Even more so we were getting tons of requests on what happened to Drake, how he was doing, for he was the most known figure of BRCF. Scientific work, preservation, and the expectation of the public hardly ever meet up, yet we get large share of our funding from them. We couldn't afford to be shy on especially Drake himself: anything, even announcing his release would have served better than being all hazy over him, and we were damn clueless." "So we decided on that short film, to celebrate the sixth decade, and to show our work, progress, the goals of the Fund as we were seeing it that day. It was to be a first, the first after Arnold. It was a good thing Drake's age was truly unknown with nobody ever thinking it important to establish a definite birthday for him, it gave us all the time we needed to polish. We would spend nights debating over ideas, watching segments we probably wanted to use, discussing on what could be done, what should yet to be filmed, how to compose it all together." "We wanted to do it in clear modern high-definition to show them in their full majesty, however we also thought it important to recite some of the Fund's and Drake's history. Those were old cuts, some even black and white. George from Muara threw in the great solution we settled for: to give all those some antique, old television like touch, which prominently separated them from the new material. Both practical and symbolic, emphasizing the change, also making it clear how Drake was still with us, like we weren't just using past footage to cover our problems up." "It was fun, a change, a bit like an escape from our troubles to play with filming in our spare hours. We were also doing interviews with each other of course cutting down a lot from those later together in the evenings to get our messages clear and brief, yet showing bits of everyone." "There was, of course, the sad part, the rescues, where they were coming from, and why it is important to change, to stop capturing, to stop abusing them. It is infuriating! We realized though that it wouldn't do good to flood this short with those, and settled for mostly using Blondie with her terribly destroyed ridge. It is a miracle she is still alive with us, her body being otherwise healthy, but she can't find a mate. A lot of other rescues would have accumulated latent diseases during their captivity, malnutrition, no sufficient exercise or Sun exposure, and could die in years despite our efforts." "However of course the short was to be dominated by Drake himself, of whom I was already making some footage to keep documenting his life. Now one leaving or coming to the camp would always take a decent camera to film as much of Drake air encounters as possible. We got to have several hours of that along with my many hours of field captures to choose from. Yet something special was missing. And, somehow, I managed to trigger that phoenix position the first time around then which I knew was exactly that what this short needed!" "It demanded care. Even though Drake had a good movie history, I didn't want to stress him against his will just to get some nice shots. Yet with some weeks of practicing when he was eager to play I discovered the sequences, the motions by which he preferred to do this. Then we planned it out. Drake would like to linger around in the camp the afternoons around sunset, and naturally preferred the take-off hill if we were there with him. Those were just what we needed. It was an amazing sight when I first tried the spot: he cooperated playing out the motion with me on the top of the hill against the setting Sun! If only I could record it!" "Janet came to help, first an afternoon when Drake wasn't here we tried locations for the camera, how we could get a good image, which wasn't easy. On the hill it deemed impossible to do it but then we noticed how a hangar roof was just aligning wonderfully with our intentions. It was just perfect! The time came, Drake was here, Janet was there, the low Sun was there! And he acknowledged the presence of the bulky professional camera on the rooftop, got agitated by it seemingly recalling his past career in movie industry!" "It however didn't quite play out the way it was in my mind. He had his darn ideas for acting, and to get any hope of cooperation I had to follow. So I was dancing with him there in the setting Sun, something like you were doing this afternoon. I was slightly angry, excited, but got carried away fascinated by his motions, his contours against that wonderful backdrop! Hell, I even forgot the damn phoenix! Until it suddenly happened just when the Sun was tumbling below the horizon, we were there, he was there, the majestic being with wings spread out wide, like a last passing tone of a harmony of wilderness, against the burning red sky! It took seconds until I realized that the act, if Janet's camera was running, likely succeed!" "It was a long way in the nights. The footage was amazing, the whole footage, so we eventually decided to use more than just the phoenix, but sure that was the absolute key of the entire movie. Drake, six decades, and still burning with life! Later we received a lot of feedback on how perfect that scene alone was, how it looked like a hell awesome fantasy! And to think we considered cutting my figure from that! As some put it, it is conjuring, wizardry, the birth of a dragon, unbelievable it is real in the age of CGI! The whole short was an explosive success, something which was so much needed by the Fund by then!" "Honestly nobody wanted all that hype coming from it, neither the sudden interest in people wanting to see and meet wyverns: it was hell controversial that way. We just put our souls in that short and ended up overshooting the goal! The Fund got recognition again, good and bad, good for we could continue, bad for all that unintended interest." "The still most controversial result of Sixty Years Drake was when Metronics offered to donate their thirty years old wyvern actor for us, named Thor, to let him live free. I don't say it wasn't a great thing: it was, the first time we got such a wonderful result, someone realizing that was the better for him and letting him go! They only requested permission to set up a small CGI workshop so they could design flying models for their fantasy movies by our wyverns which was all fair and fine: they were willing to change." "Why it was controversial is Thor himself. While he was cared well for the past decades proven by that he reached thirty and was in a seemingly okay condition, he was weak. On the outside he looks almost flawless but he likely didn't receive sufficient ultraviolet exposure in his early years, and so has his bones slightly deformed. He can move around normal, can fly, but is unfit for surviving in the wild. He was something we couldn't refuse to accept, but knowing he will be forever constrained to the camp, and will need feeding not having the strength to keep himself safe hunting." "He lives in Muara where they are still unsure what to do about him. There were some attempts with him on the field but seeing how he can not grow strong enough to live free due to his deformations those were canceled. At least he seems not to be concerned deeply, he flies for the sake of flight and remains friendly, seemingly preferring the company of people. Recently some ideas surfaced whether he should be relocated near Jala, the BRCF Center established on Arnold's first camp, sort of as a live exhibit hoping he would settle with that ambassador role. It is still discussed however whether it is the right thing to do, and if so, how it should be done so he still could feel being free, unconstrained." "I don't like it. It happened countless time the Fund got rescues deemed unfit for a future of freedom, and, cruel it may sound, they were put down! They need to be able to live free, just think about it, what a wyvern is without being able to fly! Decades and decades of stumbling on the ground watching the sky where he was to belong which he couldn't reach! Thor sure can fly, but will be constrained for his entire who knows how long life, never having a chance to live the way they were supposed to!" Mark was fair about these. Putting aside my earlier talk with Linda I agreed that if for one it was beyond hope to fly again, probably the better was to relieve him from his suffering. Thor however wasn't like those, he was just unfit for wild life, and, to acknowledge it, with that also unfit to ever socialize with his kind. Maybe though he could settle with that and live a peaceful life in the Center, and, this Mark also accepted, it wouldn't be unfair for them to have a wyvern there. After all they also work hard on their own way for the Fund's future providing essential backing, yet they rarely get to meet the subject of their endeavor. Maybe even like Drake, Thor also was an overgrown child without an idea how he was supposed to be living, and maybe he could accept being there. After all, even in the proximity of Jala there was ample space to fly in serene solitude. There was a reason why Arnold started the operation there. That was a long and dense night talking ending somewhere around midnight when Mark finally escorted me back to the guest hut I was settling in, for at least he had a gun, should anything happen on that short trip. The final act It was my sixth day, the last to spend here before tomorrow morning the plane would take me away. It again was a rather uneventful one busy working, finishing the fence and likes, however still I felt like I had it for a lifetime. I was so glad to be Jake's friend by whom this was all possible. Assembling my experiences it occurred me that sure I didn't see a whole lot of brass wyverns. A glimpse of Blondie, Ikka, who was although here, I wouldn't want to disturb unless anyone invited me to do so, and of course Drake himself, the majestic awesome Drake. It wasn't even a lot, maybe two hours I encountered him, and for most part he was just resting. But for Heaven's sake, those minutes were something I am never going to forget, not to mention everything behind those moments, monumental expanses of history! I danced with him there! I had seen something never witnessed before as he played out his role! The labor, the sweat under the hot burning Sun was all something distant. I was doing it, doing because it was my duty to do it, but my mind was somewhere, away, engulfed with thoughts on Drake and all the history which came over those events. Forty years ago maybe Arnold himself was playing these with him maybe even on that wooden tower! I spent the noon and early afternoon with Jake in the "Track ng debt." hut, casually talking, reciting some I felt appropriate from what happened the day before by Drake. He knew well most of those, said I don't have to afraid to talk, it is all the better to be open in the Fund. He liked Mark for his ideals, his connection with Drake and that he was content with the role of handling him. He shared my views on Thor's problem telling he was suggesting this from the start. It would be nice to have such an ambassador if he could enjoy fulfilling that role and at least he would get to have a real, useful purpose that way where his weakness wouldn't matter that much. It would be the better for everyone, maybe it no longer would feel like keeping him alive just out of mercy as an uneasy burden taken from Metronics seizing valuable resources from real conversation efforts. The day concluded with nothing extraordinary, working when heat allowed us to start again, giving up after the Sun went down, a dinner in the assembly hut, some unrelated talk afterwards, family, some bits of murky global politics, nothing either to frown upon. We were maybe even too tired to argue. Physical work, being out in the wild, isolation can probably do wonders in this regard. My head full with my experiences it was a sad thing to realize in the morning that I was going to sit on the plane soon and maybe won't see this place, Jake, Mark, Drake, this wilderness ruled by the magnificent brass wyvern for probably years if ever. I hauled my crap together ready to be rammed in my luggages when the time came, then went out to the assembly hut. Janet came from the phone to bring the news of that my ride was canceled for today for some technical problems. Nothing truly exceptional, this environment takes its toll on the equipment, although it messed my trip home up for the reservations. I had to call for some phone time myself to re-schedule. Of course it wasn't like just getting a bonus day just to linger around: even Janet came to tell not to be too happy about it for they always have some nifty renovations to be done. This time it was the roof of a guest-hut which was to be torn down to replace its structure, well, at least it was just the dusty type job, not the dusty and smelly one. Afternoon we were directed to the hangars for some tidy-up related to the tending of Ikka, mostly involving stacking used hay on a truck, then some routine cleaning of those resting places which were kept available for the residents should they want to spend the night in the camp. I noticed a brass flying towards the camp and soon realized she was Blondie with her mostly missing ridge. Mark was out with us working, came to intercept her noting me she likely just dropped in again for the night. He however led her to Ikka's enclosure to make sure they acknowledge each other's presence. The crew meanwhile was already dismissing, after all seeing a wyvern wasn't something unusually extraordinary if you were decidedly living out in this nowhere and Blondie wasn't that type who would terribly love companion anyway. I just sat on a crate in the shade of the hangar we were tidying up, to silently indulge these last moments of wyvern grace I was to experience live. Mark also retreated seeing them interacting, rubbing their chins to the grates, walking some turns, then finally both laying down, resting. I asked how he wasn't afraid of Blondie catching something from Ikka. He responded that it is very unlikely for those conditions mostly relating to abysmal keeping and Linda also said it is OK, just let them interact if a chance comes. So we were just sitting there, somewhere behind the Sun going down, with the two females peacefully laying by each other's side, one in, one out. It definitely was nice for Ikka, even though she had to be confined she could have some healthy interaction with free members of her kin hopefully lifting her spirit. I thought it a nice, serene setting to conclude my stay with, I wished to just sit there indulging this sight, thinking of hope, her future, freedom. A large shape's touchdown shook me out. Even Mark was startled, and exclaimed in a forced low tone "Drake!". He already knew about Ikka, but the situation was sure awkward, for me for the simple fact suddenly there were no less than three wyverns there! Mark's complexion wasn't exactly reassuring. He had a gun and its sound was probably enough if anything was to go wrong, but I could only understand him if he thought of it as a very distant last resort. Drake was aiming for, as it looked like Blondie, while Ikka inside was struck by the scene unfolding before her. He was approaching with head extended low forwards for which Blondie was seemingly startled, stumbling to her feet backing, but failing to straighten out her tail. A few, scared, neck arched steps back and it happened, stepping on her own tail stuck between her body and the grating of the enclosure she tumbled over! A swirl of dusty hell erupted as the two darted into motion! Ikka, for it was too much to her, fled back in the shelter not to come out anymore! Blondie mustering the strength of her whole body jumped to turn around and run, I only hoped she didn't maul her tail in the process, but Drake was faster! He promptly overtook her and stopped short before, blocking the way! He stood there firm, arching his neck high, ridge erect, covering a large expanse with his arms, wings partly extended, looking down Blondie, huge and menacing! She, even I could tell was frightened, looking out for ways to escape which were ample but probably futile for the towering male's probable strength! She made a few steps, but Drake, pointing his head low forth followed, just to loom over her again! I whispered Mark whether he should be doing something but he shook his head. "Whatever it is, let them play it out". I could see on his expression he meant it and hoped not just for his emotions towards Drake. No matter how wonderful and historical he was, letting that poor desecrated female suffer wasn't a possibility I wanted to witness. Yet, it was bleak. She tried to escape again, and Drake did the same, just blocking her way, looking down on her from the solid peak of his gargantuan expanses! It was futile and beyond. If I was to be there, I would be already dead. His silence just increased the sheer terror he was expressing, not a single growl, nothing. I could sense the shadows growing over their figures as they stood there motionless, the utterly scared female shaking under the piercing gaze of that all powerful and confident Drake! Then, when I felt I could snap under the tension any moment, I noticed Drake finally letting bits of his stiffness go. He was still a towering monstrosity, but his muscles weren't all flexed anymore to sharpen his contours. His head would lower slightly, the arch of the neck turning more gentle, the fingers more loose letting gusts of light breeze pushing the wings. Then Blondie twitched and he was all terror again! It went on for long minutes, Drake mellowing, Blondie making a move, and starting over! However, she was seemingly allowed more with him stiffening less with each, like she was accepting that she can't and shouldn't try to escape. It was hell and I was still unsure what this quarrel was for, whispering to Mark he only related that he had never seen anything alike. Drake was moving slow seemingly reassured Blondie won't try to escape anymore. It felt like he was very cautiously playing, performing, sometimes crouching down to touch the ground with his chest in front of her, sometimes standing, stepping to the sides, extending his neck forth, then pulling back in an arch. And finally he was starting to emit sounds. A very low, soft growling, almost like purring, which would cease, and then begin again as he played, following the acts with his head. He didn't get a response but she was seemingly affected, for she would, inch by inch, lay down on her chest, but occasionally still twitching her head away like she was scared. He laboriously continued his play under the reddish haze of the setting Sun, softly growling, purring, sometimes looking up, sometimes straight forth, seemingly to emphasize the acoustic of his mild voices, shivers would go down his entire body, shaking wildly the tips of his wings which he kept extending and folding up as he tiptoed around the confused female. It dawned on us what it was, it was so clear now! We were watching in revered silence, awestruck, wishing our presence wouldn't snap either of them out of what they were doing! It was a sight under the glorious dusk of the savanna! She finally gave in, neck and tail straightened as she was laying on her chest, wings folding away from her body. Drake kept his slow paced dance, shivering, growling, making a turn to get the resting female's base between his arms, gently advancing fort, laying down on her, his shaking wings extending to cover hers, head held high, purring! Then, all of sudden, he turned to bite down her exposed, ruined neck, and just in that same instant he halted! His shivering lessened, apparently snapped out, awaken, I could see his eyes opening wide, but not Blondie! She would suddenly truly submit, expecting, tailbase slightly raised, waiting for the huge male resting on top of her continue! Drake was laying there, confused for a moment, like maybe unsure where he was, then his instinct took him over, or I swear it felt much like so, he let it going, giving in for Nature's will and power with one little exception. He didn't bite. They were there, under the darkening purple sky, a sight never to be seen before, a wonder, these two magnificent creatures bonding their lives, both purring in shivers shaking their whole bodies, eyelids narrowed, Drake gritting his teeth, Blondie under him feeling like having it for the first time in her life as she submitted her entire being to his gentle treatment! I wasn't sure how long it lasted, Mark neither had any reference, except that it went dark meanwhile. They slowly settled, tails still intertwined, although gone limp, but seemingly they were keeping enjoying themselves. Drake was grooming Blondie, by the sides of her neck with his cheeks, she just appreciating this care. Not like they would want to give up any soon, who knows, maybe they would even start over! We agreed with Mark definitely the best is to leave them be, to let Nature having its way which finally happened! It was a first. No-one ever witnessed a wyvern bridal before, at least none we knew of. We also understood it was something very special, who knows how much of Drake's performance was composed of elements he learned with Arnold and how much his natural wild behavior, just that Blondie could tune to it! She was also a huge revelation, for one thing seemed certain: the bite, which with her crippled ridge, made her unable to accept! She was so terribly scared! We were so terribly scared! Drake...! The venerable Drake again, looks like solved it! I could see how proudness filled Mark seeing his child growing up in such a peculiar way! Of course we could never know how much they might have tried, but for sure they first succeed right before his very eyes! He was so happy he would dance with me, yes, his overgrown adopted son finally became a man, and what a man! Then, before returning the still bustling village, we got to realize we just can't walk in with the huge grins we were unable to swipe off of our faces. Somebody would notice, ask, and who knows if everyone could restrain themselves from trying to peek at them. They needed their peaceful solitude together. Mark noted he would have to come out anyway to watch over Ikka during the night so it's the better he just skipped on dinner. It was nothing uncommon if one or another resident was here and everyone saw at least Blondie landing. He would also catch the night guard to keep them from doing anything disruptive. He however escorted me to the lesser used west gate telling how I could get to the guest huts without probably running in anyone before bidding farewell. So, a little uneasy, I searched my way home almost stalking, and indeed, I was lucky to avoid contact. Not like I wanted to shake off anyone, just that it all was a whole lot to settle with, and I wanted to think, be alone, my head still spinning. I kicked off my dirty clothes, made a hasty visit to the shower cabin before finally dropping on the bed, tired and drained. I couldn't really get to sleep for a long, my mind lost in the whirlwind of experiences accumulated during the days, with Drake coming back again and again. Mark's stories would come to life, soaring, the near collapse of the Fund, sorrow, scenes from old movies I recalled, then the phoenix, the rise, the reborn, the fierce, terrorizing beast of doom to unfold into a fury of mild, gentle love! The timid brass who would take all our abuse without objecting in captivity, skin rotting, bones deforming, collars cutting in the neck breaking off spikes, the same being of gargantuan empowering silent menace, all for love! I hoped it was true, it was what I could see, and that poor ruined Blondie, even that name, the Creator shall have mercy on those who did these to her decades ago, finally found him who could stand by her side! In the early morning I was a bit uneasy for I wasn't sure how the events of last evening will reveal but thankfully Mark came for me before I could even truly wake up. He was about to gather Janet for she was the head of this camp, and Jake, my friend, to share the story. When we were all together in Janet's headquarters for that was about the tidiest place to have this little meeting, he told what happened. Janet was furious, grabbed Mark's shoulders, demanding if it's all true! It startled her, it was such a big unexpected moment that she wouldn't believe! We so set out to investigate, on the way even picking up one of the camp's most experienced trackers, Trevis, delaying his group from leaving for field research. Mark, eager, explained, showing the areas the two wyverns acted, Trevis confirming everything by the tracks in the scarce grassy growth. They stayed out long into the night, serenely growling, purring to each other, bonding maybe three or four occasions more according to the large wingprints left behind, then as Mark recalled they flew off together. With the realization, the facts sunk in her, Janet got truly astounded, even hyped: she hugged Mark with a big "Thank you!" to him, then we hugged all, even me, even though I was just a week's volunteer, I was there, in the moment, became part of this story, this work, this endeavor for preserving the brass wyvern for the future! The plane arrived timely, and, again exchanging hugs with everyone, I bid farewell wishing good luck for everything and beyond. The engines hummed, I looked back seeing the people going smaller, the grass runway getting farther, the hangars, Ikka, the village surrounded with the goat pens as they blurred together disappearing in the endless savanna's expanses marked by the blue streak of Yukos with the peaks of the Central Rockies in the hazy distance. The only thing missing was Drake's magnificent brass-plated being to complete the wonderful sight. He wasn't here. He was somewhere else now. Flying free. Epilogue I maintained good contact with Jake. He kept writing in the traditional manner: it was a custom at the Fund even though they had internet access since long even out there. I found it always pleasant to receive these, something to light me up along the trudge of bills, bureaucracy, heaps of advertisements and other synthetic impersonal sludge to land in one's post box these days. He told about how the loving pair changed, especially Blondie who grew confident, once even chasing off Niktox from the camp when she didn't find her beloved Drake. She kept appearing less and less as time passed, seemingly only retaining her interest for she could occasionally pick her mate up from there. Half a year later they acknowledged her becoming a wild wyvern, great for she found her way to live, sad for they so much wished to see how they fare together. Drake however remained the same friendly hulk of brass he ever was, always returning, playful and compassionate caring, just a small sparkling light in his eyes telling he indeed was different for he was finally bonded. Ikka, the rescue arriving when I volunteered there recovered with a few permanent marks and finally could be released to explore free around the camp. Teaching her to hunt was a bit further away for she still needed to develop her musculature to be fit for the dangers of it. A year and a few months after my volunteering I received maybe the final of these letters, for I knew what I was about to be doing. Hi, Alex! We are Jake and Mark writing. Hope you are all well up there north. We have some big things to announce, and, for you were here with us, we thought to share it with you first. Well, Jake had some bits of his own problems, though. Her Greta got a fit that she didn't marry a sailor, and the kids were to be schooled, so he had to return Jala to see after them for a month. No huge thing: he temp-joined to the Center which is undergoing some great changes these days! But let's get on to our big news! What we were all waiting for finally happened! Drake a week before returned, bringing his, and of course, Blondie's new daughter on his back! She is such an adorable perfect chick, with a flawless little ridge crowning her head and neck! Finally, we can feel our work coming to be worthwhile, our old Drake having his very own child! Of course, I don't ride him anymore, he wouldn't try to invite me since months. That's the privilege of her from now! We named her Dawn, for a better hope for us, a better hope for the Brass Wyvern! Wish you were here to see! (Of course we couldn't determine her gender, but has such a girlish charm that all of us thinks about her as a she. Hope he wouldn't bear us a grudge for that later!) By the way, the Center could really get some helping hands, for permanent, only if you truly would like to be involved in our endeavor. It is near Jala, not even on the edge of the world, quite a few of us even have their families there. About a month ago Thor was finally relocated there from Muara by our new ambassador plan, so you wouldn't even be too far from a wyvern if you preferred so! Hope to hear from you soon! Your friends: Jake, Mark