The dragon wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You keep those golden fleas to yourself, now."

"They got under my scales last time," agreed the other dragon.

It was just after three that frantic wildlife officers got their first lead on the two missing rare and endangered animals. In response to their radio broadcasts and TV appeals, someone named Beth Camero from a small town forty miles from the Tennessee state line called in. A state trooper was dispatched immediately to the spot.

The state trooper looked at the wallet. "I'll be damned. Carl Frederick." He shook his head. "We've been trying to get our hands on that drug-dealing son of a bitch for a while now. So which way was he heading with those dragons, ma'am?"

Beth pointed. "And I'd offer you boys a burger and a cup of coffee, but they ate everything I had."

Back in the patrol car, the officer called in. "You can tell the Fish and Wildlife guys that it's not strayed dangerous animals any more. It's poaching. Frederick. The local weed king? Yeah, well, the bastard's decided to move from trafficking dope into trafficking wildlife."

Beth Camero went on painting her new sign. Dragons' Rest Road House.

"That's the perimeter fence. You just follow it and you'll come to the gate," said Carl. "Look, can't you let me go here? I'm… uh, not really welcome there." The thought of the base MP's reaction to his arrival, even on dragonback, was not a comfortable one. "You don't need me. And you've damaged my life enough. Couple of damn muggers, what you are."

The dragons were still full, and bulgingly good tempered. "I suppose we are here. And you have fed us," said one.

"But what have we done to you?" said the dragon, setting him down.

"You destroyed my livelihood. Landed on my crop," said Carl righteously. "Not to mention robbing me blind."

The dragons looked at each other. "It's only fair that we make it up to you."