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.