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Fire season was coming, which carried one distinct plus for Philip Dubois. It meant water freshly trucked up to the Forest Service guard station. Taking full advantage, he lingered in the large shower stall as three shower heads sprayed onto him. Philip rested his forehead against the cool tile while water drizzled down both his anthropic and equine back. After a few guilty minutes Philip started washing down and then rising off. Typical of centaurs, Philip's anthropic body was more muscular and his shoulders broader. His lower body size and proportion was somewhat larger than a foal but with a smaller stomach. Between wasn't an anthropic pelvis and equine shoulders, but something different from both. His dusty blond scalp hair was shaved tight around the back and side, but his hangs ran a bit long. It matched his lower body coat, but for the irregular white patch similar to Paints. It affected upper and lower skin tones. Equine scapula connected to what the other races thought of as a hip socket. It offered Philip the flexibility to reach his own hind quarters and even pull up each leg one at a time and clean under his hooves with a hand pick.
Centaurs and Panahu were seen as chimeras to the other races, though to Philip they all looked dismembered and mutilated. Yet, the bipeds collectively were ninety-nine point nine percent of the population, so their descriptors defined centaurs rather than the other way around. Just one reason why Philip and Doria made the Forest Service Station their home. The other started when automobiles appeared in Salt Lake Valley and grew in abundance. While it was nice not to contend with horse crap that the human majority just let lay around, drivers grew ever less considerate over the century since. The only reason auto pedestrian incidences and deaths weren't higher is that the bipeds did less of the bipedal thing and more of the driving. Their roads even advanced up the Wasatch Mountains, making encounters with city and rural people more frequent. The state saw the opportunity to use fees to cover the cost of road clearance and maintenance, though Philip suspected the revenue was higher than necessary to shore up bad decisions made elsewhere in the state by the legislature. A lot of cleaning up, but Philip and Doria were just two voices drowned out by the ten-toed horde.
After a final rinse down, just to soak in the luxury of the shower, Philip clopped out and toweled off. He paced through the station back over to the bedroom he and Doria were using. The rest of the station was largely separate, so Philip felt comfortable enough to be shirtless. Entering the bedroom, he saw Doria asleep on king-sized mat that they shared. He legs were folded under herself, and she lay forward with her forearms under the pillow. She stirred and groaned after a moment of Philip watching her. Her long raven black hair, matching her lower coat, spilled over a shoulder just as her tail did down her rump. Then she opened her eyes to squint at Philip and grumbled, "Morning already?"
"I'll get breakfast started, so you can be all bright and bushy-tailed," Philip said with a smirk.
"Extra brown sugar in the oatmeal, and just a drop of organic honey," Doria moaned in anticipation.
"Always," Philip answered before throwing an undershirt on, grabbing his phone, and then backed out before closing the door.
Entering the kitchen, Philip went to the counter, sat his phone down, and bent low without kneeling on his forelegs to open the cabinets where pans were kept. He picked out a cast iron skillet and a pot, filling the latter with water, and took them over to the gas stove. Being traditional, Philip clung to using wood matches to light the gas, and then he plunged the match into a small jar of water to join other spent matches. While the pan heated Philip got a packet of bacon out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. After, he pulled out the bag of oatmeal along with the brown sugar and honey jar. Once the water started simmering he poured the oatmeal in. Next, he laid out a few strips of bacon into the skillet. Oatmeal was the stereotypical food bipeds associated with centaurs, but it happened to be true for most. It was cheap and filling, which centaurs learned to shop for long in advance of anyone else other than maybe giants.
One old practice that Philip gave up was kettle-brewed coffee. Once Doria got a taste of coffee in a cafe where she didn't encounter grinds she was hooked with the new age of brewing. He acquiesced and their first appliance bought for the station was a coffee machine. Anything that made Doria light up brought euphoria to Philip. Just so, his skin tingled when he suddenly felt her arms wrap around his anthropic midsection, and her hands slide down his equine flanks ending in a light pat.
"Almost ready," Philip said before they exchanged a kiss.
Doria went to a cupboard to pull out a pair of small plates and large bowls. She laid them out on a chest-high table, while Philip checked on the bacon and oatmeal. When each were ready he served them out, and Doria brought over two cups of coffee in one trip and then a pair of glasses and milk from the refrigerator in the next. Philip liked milk in his oatmeal, but Doria preferred hers without. Philip went back to the counter for his phone and then stood before his spot at the table and turned it on to check messages while he ate.
Philip thought back to when telegraph wires first made their way out to the west. A time many among the shorter-lived races thought of as idyllic, but he was glad for it being the past. Many centaurs sought refuge in the west. Yet, the thing with having twice as many legs is that while one gets there faster, the fewer legged people always manage to catch up. Something Philip pondered while reading news of a new ski resort development catering to the super wealthy.
The screen switched to show an incoming call, which Philip swiped to answer, "Forest Service Station Seventeen, Officer Dubois speaking."
"Philip, it's Travis. I'm over in Huntsville on a wildlife call I need some help with."
"What kind of wildlife issue?" Philip asked.
"Uhh," Travis paused, "The Ten Ninety-One Foxtrot kind."
Travis was aware that the old radio code wasn't practiced by the Forest Service, and Philip was one of only a handful who remembered it. "Animal induced fire incident?"
"Yeah," Travis confirmed, "This one's pretty bad."
"I'll get ready and head out there," Philip replied, "Give me the route."
"That's a ways out," Doria said then took a sip of coffee.
"Did you need the truck today?" Philip asked.
"No, still doing remote work," Doria answered.
After finishing breakfast Philip paced around the table to kiss Doria on the cheek. "Always love you."
"Always love you," she answered, and brushed his bangs before sliding her hand to caress his cheek.
Philip went back to the bedroom to get dressed. That meant the Forest Service uniform shirt and green cap, but not slacks. For a centaur shoes were something apart from the biped races or horses. Slipped over the full toes of each leg, they laced up like a boot, but at the bottom was a composite material horseshoe made smaller for centaurs. While the Forest Service didn't require centaurs to cover their equine body with turnout sheets, Philip did so for a number of benefits, including avoiding awkward social situations. Atop that, he put on a waist/withers harness that resembled saddle bags minus the saddle, and then put his wallet, phone and keys in one pouch. Getting his tie on and his badge, Philip then looked himself over in a mirror, got his keys and was ready to go.
Sure, Philip could gallop at over forty miles an hour, but only for one to one and a half miles. In trot at half that speed he could go for hours, so even a centaur saw the advantage of having a vehicle. The catch was having one a centaur could get into and drive. Hence the truck Philip headed for after exiting the station. The seventies era king cab pickup had custom removable front seats, which Philip and Doria hadn't put back in since they first got the truck, and remodeled singular long doors. Philip unlocked the door and paced back while swinging the door out wide enough to get in. Sitting his hide quarters on the back seat, Philip rested his mid-limbs and equine chest on a floor bench fastened in place of the driver seat. Bracing with his left side legs, he reached out and pulled the heavy door closed without difficulty despite its weight and poor leverage. Compared to orcs or ogres, his upper body strength wasn't that impressive, but more than the lighter bipedal races.
Philip reached back to belt down his hind quarters and then fastened modified shoulder straps across his front. The engine started right up with a well-tuned rumble, and Philip pulled out of the parking lot. On the road, the only way Philip would stand out from the ninety plus percent human population in the state is if another motorist noticed his rear-pointed ears. Syncing his phone to the truck, Philip skimmed news videos online to see if he could find out anything more than what Travis told him. Instead, he got the usual fluff pieces common for distracting audiences from any discomfort filled state and local news. Whatever it was, didn't register as big enough ratings material for national news, leaving Philip only with Travis' vague reference.
Within a couple hours Philip was on the last stretch before coming to a remote community in Highland near a local cave network. Right away, Philip saw the patch of scorched earth with Weber County deputies and several people ranging from three and a half to four and a half feet tall standing around them. He knew they were adults not just from their proportions but because the Khazanogos township borrowed half its name from the local cave network but the other half was dwarven.
Philip parked at a nearby rest stop and got out. One of the dwarves turn and called out with a high pitched voice, "Hey Philip! How's the truck runnin'?"
"Like a work of a true master craftsman should," he called back to his friend, Boaz. "Ford should send recruiters after you."
"Hey, glad you could make it out here," Travis said while holding out his hand. "We missed you at last year's Pioneer Day Parade. Would've thought you'd be Grand Marshall by now."
"I was out here before they were. I know that the story they tell themselves isn't what actually happened," Philip said and shook his hand, and then looked at the burned ground and heap of flesh in the middle. "Is that a cow?"
"Brand is from a ranch at the south end of the state," Travis said, turning toward the charred remains. "I've been on the phone with the owner all morning. Says he lost seven overnight."
"Lets see what we got here then," Philip said and dropped to his mid-limb knees. "Burn is pretty much over the entire body and goes down several inches. Looks like the bites happened after. They like their steak well-done. Almost crocodilian except for what could be canine tooth pattern tearing," then Philip pointed to another injury. "This is where it was pinned down. Three toes forward and splayed, one reversed."
"Tell me I'm not nuts, and this is what I think it is," Travis muttered.
"I know a biologist from the U that I could get out here to be sure." Philip himself was reluctant to say what he thought did this, as he stood back up.
"It's been centuries since any of them were aggressive," Travis remarked, "Why now?"
In answer, Philip surveyed the mountain range as far as he could see. In the background he heard the faint sound of aircraft. He remembered what it looked when bare of visible habitation by people. Yet, more and more development climbed the Wasatch western slopes. Ski resorts were one thing, but over the last few decades there were an increasing number of wildlife incidences around homes. Geological reasons alone made it a bad idea to build further up the mountains, but developers didn't care. Their attitude toward wildlife encroachment was even more blasé. They could always count on Animal Services or the feds like the Forest Services to clean up the mess, and clean up meant euthanizing any animal that objected to its home range being intruded upon.
"I don't want to jump to any conclusions," Philip hedged with a palm up. "I'll get Savanna to take a look before...."
The sound of helicopters drawing much closer cut Philip short. On their sides appeared USDM.
"Magic Task Force? What the hell?" Travis blurted out.
"It's a fair bet they'll want everyone to go about their day, Travis," Philip suggested.
"Alright folks, show's over," Travis called to everyone, and then mentioned one Dwarf by name, "Milton, we may be out here for a bit. Might be best to keep your dogs in. I'll let you know when we're done."
The two helos landed further out in the field, but doors swung up fast and people poured out. A couple were in hazmat suits. The two approaching Philip and Travis worse formal suits. The first was an elf with white irises and blue dyed shoulder length hair. He wore a metal torque displaying his house. The redheaded bearded human was heavyset and tall enough one might suspect distant giant or ogre ancestors. Both showed their credentials as the elf spoke, "Special Agent Kandomere and this is Special Agents Montehugh, Department of Magic. We'll be taking control over the scene," then the elf's demeanor became deferential while addressing Philip. "Though if would remain to observe and advise that would be appreciated."
"This is Philip Dubois of U.S. Forest Service," Travis started to reciprocate introductions, "And I'm Deputy Trav-.
"Time's critical," Agent Kandomere cut in and turned away. "Get radiological readings and collect samples."
Travis looked like he wanted to retort at the curt dismissal of his authority, but Agent Montehugh gave him a scowl that clamped Travis' mouth closed without a sound.
Surprised by the Magic Task Force's sudden arrival Philip just waved at the burnt carcass and watched them go to work. Geiger counters were the start of their investigation, though Philip wasn't sure if their clicks and cracks were of the normal kind or not. After, they cut away small slices from the charred surface and less cooked insides. A large security truck and several unmarked cars arrived within an hour with more feds coming out and taking their direction from Agent Kandomere. Then, Kandomere waved for Philip and Travis to follow him and Montehugh into the back of the security truck. Along the way, Philip overheard a field examiner whispering to herself. "Elevated radios of Potassium 40, Carbon 14, and even reoccurring Phosphorus 32."
"Did either of you touch the remains?" Kandomere asked.
"No," Travis said right away with a subtle look of revulsion.
"Same. No physical contact," Philip replied.
"What about the locals?" Montehugh pressed.
"Not that I saw," Travis answered, "And I was first responder on the scene."
"We'll question the dwarves later about that," Kandomere said, and waved at Travis, "That's enough for now, Deputy. You can step out, but remain on the scene."
Once Travis was out of human earshot, Kandomere returned his attention to Philip and nodded off to the side. "While we were still in the air, Mr. Dubois, I noticed you kneeling over the kill. What do you think?"
"Dracopteryx ignis," Philip said plainly, and then added, "I didn't want to cause a panic among the dwarves. Deputy Holland was thinking the same thing and asked me to confirm his suspicions."
Kandomere ran a couple fingers over his mouth in consideration before saying, "How sure are you a dragon did this?"
"There are no crocodiles in the Intermountain West, which is the closest bite pattern, and none with the set of fangs I saw in those wounds," Philip explained, "And I'm sure your people will confirm the claw marks. I overheard mention of radioactive isotopes. What's that about?"
"You understand our operations charter, yes?" Kandomere asked.
"You're supposed to be looking for wands and brights," Philip recalled, then tilted his head. "What are you suggesting?"
"Hey boss, we're crossing into some sensitive areas here," Agent Montehugh reminded.
"I trust him with this information," Kandomere said, "The Magic Prevention Desk will give clearance when I run it past them."
"So," Philip beckoned Kandomere's attention. "About isotopes?"
"You understand that wands are weapons of mass destruction that require protocols on par with chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear weapons," Kandomere began, "Just laying around makes them a risk to whole cities and anyone who comes into contact with one can trigger a catastrophe. But you don't know why. No one does. Brights have a property that serves as both an authentication and interface. There was nothing chemically or genetically that makes brights stand out, which left us with the nuclear question. Certain isotopes that exist naturally in the body but in higher concentrations than normal. We believe that when triggered into accelerated decay in a certain combination they give brights access to what passes as a wand's operating system."
"There are brights among dragons?" Philip scoffed at himself for saying it out loud.
"Not quite like a bright," Kandomere corrected, "But they have the same signature isotopes and in greater abundance. Isotopes that are found in the wands themselves."
"Elves are the most common brights of all the races, and even most elves are not brights," Philip said, "What fraction of dragons could possibly be?"
"All of them," Montehugh answered with a raised chin.
Philip looked to Kandomere with disbelief, and in answer the elf agent dipped his head subtly in confirmation.
"I suppose that explains breathing fire," Philip pondered aloud.
"Among other things, that's the going postulate," Kandomere added, "So if one has become aggressive we need to know why."
"Right now we're standing at seven lost cattle," Philip said, "I wouldn't call that aggression just yet."
"You've been out here long enough to know what happens to wild predators who take livestock," Kandomere warned, "Ranchers in particular take a dim view of anything that is seen as threatening their livelihood. And you know where that will lead. You've seen it personally."
"Point taken," Philip conceded looking down and away, and finally returned eye contact. "I'll help in whatever way I can."
"Thank you for your understanding, Mr Dubois." Kandomere accepted with a steeple-handed gesture toward Philip.
Excused, Philip went back outside to find Travis eagerly coming up to him brimming with questions, "What's this I'm hearing from these elves? Fort Necessity? Breeds Hill? Yorktown?"
"Fort Necessity was the French-Indian War," Philip explained, watching the agents go out to their team members, and explained, "We got our asses handed to us. To be honest, we kinda had it coming. Before you ask, yes I was under General Washington then and again at Yorktown."
"I overheard he personally gave you a Purple Heart," Travis enthusiastically beamed, and tossed a gesture at him, "Did you know any other Founding Elders?"
"Just the one and not that well." Philip's gaze grew distant.
"What was he like?" Travis prodded.
Philip gave it some thought before answering, "Brief."
"Don't leave me in suspense." Travis was clearly hungry for details. "He gave you a metal. He must've said something."
"It was these exact words, 'For military merit.' He then said the same thing to the man next to me and the one after that," Philip said and then shrugged. "The George Washington of 1781 was very different from the one I served under in 1753. It seemed a lot of him was, I guess, stripped away. When I was in Philadelphia I did once catch a glimpse of John Adams and Benjamin Franklin together. At least I think it was them."
"Alright, let's get this thing wrapped up for quarantine," Agent Mongehugh called out waving a finger in the air. "The disposal truck will be here soon. Be sure to skim off the affected dirt."
Philip gave the agents his cell number and quietly watched them pack up the evidence. Travis knocked on the backdoor of the dwarven home to give them the all clear. Being the last to leave the Dwarves' yard, Philip gave the great-great-grandfather a knowing look which the shorter and less ancient person, whose beard almost reached his toes, returned. Then, heading back to the truck, Philip pulled out his phone and dialed. He re-linked the phone to the truck sound system.
"Hey stud," Doria answered, "How did it go?"
"I got another drive to make and way longer," a guilty Philip replied, "It's not fair to you...."
"Shhh," Doria soothed to him. "Whatever you gotta do. You don't have to tell me it's important, because I knew from how you left the station. We've got plenty of time for each other, and far more than either of us thought we would. Besides, I got girlfriends on speed dial. It's about time we had a night out. Always love you."
"Always love you," Philip replied, "Always."
It was no exaggeration on Philip's part, as he was on the road for the rest of the day, through the night, and into the predawn hours of the morning. The southwest parts of Montana weren't changed much from the last time Philip visited. Towns were somewhat larger, roads had better signage, and he was never beyond one phone call for help if he needed it.
The latter was a first for Philip in this area, and ironically added risk to the reason he came to Painted Rocks State Park. The same gas station he recalled in his last visit was still here, but the gas pumps were long gone. Philip found a parking spot and pulled a box of wooden matches from his glove box to put into a pouch before getting out. He entered the front door of the business that now sold campaign supplies and tourist goods. The short, Indigenous, middle-aged human woman lit up on seeing him, and she ran around the counter to wrap her arms around him.
"Ohh Phil!" she exclaimed with joy, "Grandpa always said you'd be back. How you been?"
"Great, Matika," Philip replied warmly. "Sorry I couldn't make it to his funeral."
"That was so long ago," Matika dismissed with a wave, "He knew your spirit was with his in the end. You and Doria still together?"
"Always," Philip's smile turned into a grin, but then quickly faded. "Actually, I'm up here in a not-quite-official capacity. I gotta go up Piquett Mountain, and I gotta do it on hoof to see something."
"Hikers been all up and down that mountain." Matika's demeanor seemed to become defensive as she turned away to retake her spot at the front desk. "There hasn't been any problems."
"You and I know it doesn't work like that," Philip gently scolded, "They're not going to soil their personal space. Problem is how large that definition is for them."
"What happened, Philip?" Matika's question sounded like pleading.
"Cattle. In Utah," Philip paced the revelation. "The rub is it's probably justified. Just the same, I gotta look them in the eye and see for myself."
"I know you mean to do right by them, Philip," Matika said while picking at a corner of a countertop sticker. "But they don't."
She could've meant elves, dwarves, orcs, or the lighter skinned humans, Philip thought. Arguably all of them. Philip believed it. "That's why I had to get ahead of everybody else. Nobody knows I'm here. If my luck and theirs holds nobody else will be showing up."
"By rights, the world is theirs, Phil," Matika reminded.
"And we're just livin' in it," Philip agreed, and turned for the door but nodded to Matika. "I want to make sure they keep what little of it they have left."
With that Philip left. He didn't go back to the truck, rather Philip took up a trot and then changed his mind, switching into a full gallop. He kinda wanted to test these composite shoes anyway, so why not. The scenery was enough to keep Philip's mind from going too dark in thought. While the exact trails Philip once used in a bygone age had vanished his sense of orientation on the mountain remained keen.
Officially, Piquett Mountain had no caverns, and the uninvited would find none if they went looking. Part of why Philip left the truck behind. He knew that he had to come on their terms or none at all. Once he found a familiar depression into the multi-colored lichen encrusted rock face Philip knew he'd arrived. Tentatively, he approached the rise of rock and reached out, half-expecting cold contact. Instead, his hand passed through but with a chill spreading over the part of his hand that he no longer could see.
"Yeah yeah, I know," Philip said aloud, "You made yourselves clear enough last time."
Pressing through the illusory mountainside, Philip was overcome by pitch black. Carefully, he felt for the matches in his saddlebag pouch. Normally striking up up without thought, this time Philip focused on each action before deciding the next. Hearing the hiss of a successful strike, Philip raised the burning match up ahead of him and proceeded on. A larger hiss answered back with a throaty rumble Philip knew well.
Matchlight reflected back from an intense orange pair of saucer-sized eyes turned his way. Philip hadn't expected one to be this close to the entrance, and he felt stricken with a need to explain himself. "I convinced Orville to account for you when he first created the Federal Aviation Administration. They've been diverting flights around you guys ever since. No questions asked."
The rumble shifted to more of a purr, which brought a slight smile to Philip. "I seem to remember you and the dwarves having some history, but dropping a burnt cow in their yard is less cordial than I think they deserved."
Another hiss and the sound of dripping was his answer, to which Philip raised a hand. "Right, don't mention the wee folk. Got it. But it's not just that. Look, I know things are tight with all this encroachment. I keep telling them and they still give me the brushoff. You know how they react when things drop out of the sky and fire follows. They don't like when goes-around becomes come-around."
A grinding of talons against rock sounded, and Philip's sharp ears gauged the shifting body weight to know he had the dragon's full attention. The match went out, and Philip shook it in the dark before putting it in the pouch opposite of the one he kept the rest. The coldness of the false rock wall had shifted to a soothing cool with a humidity that hugged rather than suffocated.
Philip took relief in that, but he just didn't know if his words really landed or if he was just anthropomorphizing the dragons into a scaly mirror of himself. Nonetheless, Philip went on. "The feds think you're like a bright. Uh, like a user of magic. I mean, when they told me about the isotopes it sewed up a few things about you in my mind. I can't imagine you needing wands, but that false front isn't just David Copperfield trickery."
Philip was uncertain how to take a snort through large nostrils, but he wasn't being mauled or incinerated, so he decided that was permission to continue. "They split the atom, you know. The suspicion is they used wands to do it, and then got scared by the implication. They swore off the stuff ever since. There's a whole agency to shut down any magic they find. Except you, of course. Honestly, I don't think they'd dare. But everyone has a breaking point. Pretty sure that's why you guys snagged some beef on the go. If that's all they lose in this deal I think things will cool off. Maybe they pull their heads out their asses and get serious about habitat preservation. They won't give you back most of it, but I know they can take more. These people can justify anything. Multiple countries will attest to that."
The gurgling growl didn't strike Philip as particularly aggressive, but he knew it was done from an open mouth. "We're probably too alien to each other to ever reach an understanding. Killer whales have an entire lobe of their brains that has no parallel in any of the nine races plus orcs. You're even more different than that. After Chicxulub your ancestors had the run of the store. Then we show up way, way later. With everything we've done it's fair to say we don't deserve the throne. I'd be the first to say that. However, mass extinction events have a way of reminding everything that fair isn't in nature's grand design."
Philip hadn't realized that he'd been pacing in small circles amid his one-way conversation, until he felt a massive snout press gently against his anthropic back. Turning around, he caressed the huge muzzle the way one might with a horse, though Philip stayed mindful that he was the junior partner of this momentary relationship. "I'm sorry that I can't make them be better. That's a herculean task I think might be too much even for a wand's power. Not that I'd want to try it. Been through enough history to know what great power does to people. Either it kills them or they kill others with it. That doesn't seem to be a problem your kind has, does it. And thank you for that. Thanks for not burning us away, even if we earned it."
The dragon's nuzzling turned into a subtle push that Philip read correctly and nodded in the dark. "Hmm, okay. I'm grateful you let me get this off my chest. I'll go back and keep trying."
Philip carefully prodded with each hoof on the way toward where he felt the dragon's push. Daylight blasted his eyes before he registered that he was through the illusion. Exiting fully, Philip turn about himself to look longingly at the rock face. To be sure, he reached out for it again. This time it was solid but didn't seem quite so hard and craggy to the touch.
Part of him believed that was just his imagination, or an effort to justify himself once more, but either way Philip took the hint for what it was. He headed back down the hiking trail at a slower clip than his ascent. He didn't know yet what he was going to say to Agents Kandomere and Montehugh. Philip knew it just had better be damn good, because he was sure they didn't want dragons to make the point themselves.
THE END