The next several days were long to say the least, and not only due to the fact that I had to keep chasing kids off the farms that wanted to try and pet the wyvern. No. I had been thinking, and since McDunnough left I had been doing precious little else besides.

The scratch of the pen drew me back from my thoughts. My hand had been working through the arithmetic even if my brain hadn’t been focused. I glanced down at the page to look over my handiwork and smiled, I didn’t remember much of my shoulder beyond the basics… and even then what was offered to me wasn’t much. Not that I minded, whenever I wasn’t in school I was working on the farm, and I much preferred working on the farm to reading any books.

But I did have a talent for arithmetic. If I didn’t the farm wouldn’t have lasted near as long as it did after my parents passed. Course, this year it wouldn’t have done much in the way of good, the money was so tight it didn’t matter how I moved the numbers around… but now there is possibly another option. With the cattle sold I could have gotten close to one-hundred-fifty pound, a rather princely sum all things considered.

Course, that much could get a man started just about anywhere… for a time at least. Sure I could afford a house, but I didn’t have the skills necessary to pay for it long term. At least, not unless the little plan in the back of my mind actually came to fruition. With a sigh I set down the quill and stretched my arms over my head, several loud pops echoing through the old stone building before I went limp, falling back into my chair and glancing out the window. It was enough money to go to Australia or America, though neither were particularly appealing, but the week since McDunnough sent his letter had given me plenty of time to plan.

I scanned the fields a moment before settling on the former coo pen. There were no coos in it, though that was less due to them being wary of the beast currently residing within and more that I would not let the wyvern take any chances. The beast hadn’t actually made any moves towards them since it arrived, and I’m not sure whether that was due to it not particularly being interested in going after them, or just that the lazy bastard was quite pleased with being fed twice a day.

All I knew was what I could see of it: it’s tail sliding over the grass, the beast laying on its back and basking in the sun. I let it out of its restraints two days ago, mostly because leaving the poor thing in the restraints for much longer would be cruel, and I never saw much point in being mean to god's creatures. Even the coos lived a comfy life before I sent them to the market, and I made sure to make things quick and painless at the end.

Honestly, I half expected the bastard to bolt and break through the fence to get into the woods, but instead the wyvern had merely stared at me a bit before taking a long limping walk ‘round the pen. The wyvern was either smart and recognized I had been trying to help it, or it realized it was in no shape to get away. In either case it had been relaxing ever since, only bothering to really get active whenever I brought food. Course that’s just during the day: last night I found the corpse of a formerly adventurous whipper drake in there. To say the runt lost the fight would be perhaps putting it mildly.

Course, just because it was docile didn’t mean it was safe; the damn thing nearly took my head off when I approached it from behind quietly. Since then I had been treating it like a horse, moving slowly and making sure it knew of my presence whenever I got close to it. The ‘myth’ had died for me rather harshly these past few days, the wyvern was, in the end, just another animal… thought it was certainly a powerful one. I watched it as it lounged on the grass, it twisted slightly to adjust itself, and I could see muscle shifting underneath hide as its powerful frame took on the desired position. Every ounce of the beast exuded strength, which is a rather odd thing when one considers it weighed less than the majority of the coos.

‘Hollow-boned’ was the term I think McDunnough used, something about how it's body forms to make it easier for it to attain flight. Frankly I never remembered any biology I didn’t need to take care of the animals… and it certainly wouldn’t be flying anytime soon in any case. The wound on its chest healed rapidly, as did the leg, but according to McDunnough the sac full of gas lodged in its chest would take a good while longer to fix itself. I could fix sheep, coos, horses, goats, and ram, but damn if I knew the first things about wyverns and no local stores carried books about wyvern husbandry. I checked.

Still, I consoled myself, I could only learn as I went. I leant back in my seat to look out the front door towards the coos. They cared little for the change in housing or the fact that they had a new neighbor. Once the shed was filled with hay to sleep on they continued on their lives with little in the way of fussing. I watched as Dylan lifted his head from the grass, tufts of green sticking out of his mouth as he turned to look back down the road. My eyes flicked from the coo to the road as well, just in time to see what it was that had attracted Dylan’s interest.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

A carriage was making its way down the road, bouncing slightly as the wheels caught every divot and rough patch along the way. Two strong black horses pulled it along, guided by a coach driver sitting on the front bench. Red curtains were drawn open on the interior windows, though the angle didn’t allow me to actually see inside. I heard the carriage a moment later, the clacking of wood as it sped along doing well to let anyone and everyone know that someone important (or at least rich) was coming.

Course the point was rather moot, since I was the only one around for a mile in any direction. I watched it round the road, then blinked in surprise as it started to slow down… then came to a stop just at the gate of my property. The drivers hopped off the bench and landed in the mud, taking rather exaggerated steps as he made his way around the side to open the door to the carriage. A man stepped out first, my eyes widened as I took him in. From the black frock coat he was wearing to the silver cane he was holding the man clearly had some form of wealth. I watched as he turned around to help out a woman, she was dressed in the same form of frock he was, though while he settled for some form of black cotton pants she was wearing a bright red twilled skirt. Both were more than likely in their mid thirties by my estimation, and I watched as they rather smartly stepped over the deeper patches of mud to make their way to my gate.

… Right. I slicked back my hair as best I could before I stepped outside, one hand idly brushing off bits of dirt from my suspenders as I made my way down the hill towards the front of the property. At my approach the man raised his hand in greeting, the other cupping around his mouth as he shouted. “Is this the Adair residence?”

There was a bit of stutter to my step before I continued. The man was English, not Scottish. No matter, just not what I ex-. Actually dressed like that, nevermind.

“Aye, it is.” I replied, making my way down to the gate before stopping just in front of him. “Yer speaking to Arthur Adair.” I said, moving to unlock the gate as I did so.

The man extended a hand the moment the gate was opened, and I was slightly surprised by the strength of his grip as he shook my own. “Crawford Bailey,” the man said, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement in the early morning light. He then jerked towards the side to draw attention to the woman standing just to his rear and left. “The missus Bailey.”

“Ma’am.” I said politely, lowering my hand from the shake as I turned my full focus back onto Crawford. “How can ah help ya?”

Crawford grinned and stepped past me, his shoes sinking in the mud… not that he seemingly cared as he made his way up the hill into my property. The missus followed quickly after, and I was left staring after them both for several moments before my brain caught up with my legs and I was chasing after.

He disappeared around the corner of the barn, a loud excited cheer sounding out a moment later. It took me rounding the corner of the house myself a second later to see why, Crawford was clapping his hands together with a smile of childlike glee on his face.

“A Caucus Skyracer!” his shout carried over the hills, and it didn’t take more than the sound of confused mooing behind you to tell that his shout had drawn Dylan and the rest’s attention.

“Oh my,” the missus uttered quietly, one hand moving to cover her mouth as she looked over the ‘majestic’ beast.

“Particularly rare?” you asked, raising your voice to get Crawford’s attention.

“Oh, no at all.” Crawford looked back at you, not losing the grin as he did so. “Downright common in the right places in fact, but it is rare in England. Most can’t seem to adapt to the warmer climate.”

You turned your head from Crawford to look at the beast. The wyvern was still laying on its back, with its wings spread out to catch as much sunlight as it could, though the wyvern had turned its head slightly to watch all of you with one eye.

“Really now?” You said after a few pregnant moments.

Crawford didn’t respond to the question, instead the man moved around the side of the paddock, alternating between crouching down low and standing on the tips of his toes as he looked the wyvern over. The beast watched him for a time, before losing interest it closed its eyes again and went back to enjoying the sun.

A rather traitorous sight, the creature has been damn skittish, I’d learned rather quickly that it let out little juts of flame whenever it felt threatened or scared by something. My old pair of now burnt boots learned that lesson as well. Crawford however has no such issues.

“The brand is… unknown to me, but see here?” Crawford gestured to the top of the brand: a crown insignia. “Definitely of london.” He nodded, finally kneeling down to get a closer look through the fence. “I can take some sketches and send it back to see if some contacts of mine can find a match.”

“Do ah have to give it back?”

Crawford stared at the wyvern a moment longer before turning to look at me. “Of course,” then he smiled again. “Growing fond of it?”

“Not particularly,” I replied honestly. “Just was curious… would it be alright if I just took it to London myself to give it to the owner?”

Crawford stared at me, and I watched as he pressed his hands against his knees to stand himself up. “Whatever for?”

I shrugged. “Maybe this rich guy needs someone to take care of the wyvern? Looks like the last guy weren’t too good at it in any case: there’s scuff marks on its ankles from cuffs, and least from what ah can reckon those scratches around the joints of the wings sure look like it was bound.”

Crawford blinked in surprise then looked back at the beast, one hand moving to his chin as he looked towards the spots I pointed out. “It isn’t particularly uncommon, the marks that is. London is a… crowded city, keeping a wyvern takes considerable effort.” He then looked back at me, the hand that was on his chin moving to press his cane into the ground. “I have brought food for the wyvern, if you wished to leave for London I would recommend taking the train from Glasgow.”

I smiled.