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.

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