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"Inspection in two days. Prepare as necessary. Looking forward to catching up with you and your stock. See you soon. -T."

_ _

Ren rose with the sun every morning, as routine and his work both demanded. He had long since grown used to the pattern, trudging out into either the blustering chill of winter or simmering warmth of summer while still wiping the sleep from his eyes, the taste of the morning fresh in his throat. For the first few minutes the falcon's body ran on its own, checking the hinges and slats of the various constructions around the ranch, stirring the feed and dumping the refuse, doing everything that needed to be done.

Since a courier had brought the note to him the previous morning, handwritten in metallic black ink with the familiar flourish of his connection within the palace, Ren had paid extra attention to these daily tasks. He checked and double-checked everything, triple-measured the proportions in the feed - since this was, of course, of utmost importance to the product of his ranch - and quadruple-checked the conditions of the stables themselves.

It was an odd trade, and unlike all of the others in the region, one that Ren had not been born into. These stables of his had been constructed of thick, dense carbonate stone, double-walled with treated wood supports within, without, and supporting the ceiling. Such preparations were necessary to contain the set of feral dragons inside, docile and well-trained as they were. The floor, too, consisted of the same stone, coated in a strong waterproof - for, simply put, Ren's ranch was a dragon farm, of sorts. The beasts, each one about the size of a horse once and another half over, produced no milk - at least not that the falcon had ever seen, though he had learned to keep his mind open - but rather another liquid product, highly sought in particular among the upper class of society.

He had not been born into this trade, yet he still treated it with the utmost respect that it deserved, as well as the unavoidable touch of a bit of personal interest on the side. Every morning with the sun still half-hidden beneath the horizon, Ren opened the great wooden doors of the stables, also treated to resist flame and corrosion both, and stepped inside. Though cold-blooded the huge beasts produced quite a lot of heat, even more so once the routine 'milking' began. This was where the need for the treatment of the wood and resin over the floor showed itself: dragon urine coaxed straight from the source had a tendency to corrode over time.

Most of the other farms enlisted the help of a handful of well-trained, carefully-chosen associates, while Ren ran his entirely on his own, save for the occasional borrowed hand to assist with cleaning up every now and then. His first order of business was to check the troughs in front of each stall and, if needed, scrub them clean of any dirt or refuse or anything else undesirable. Then he refilled each of the two of them with water and the proper portion of specially prepared feed, slightly different for each dragon and based on the expected qualities. Sharp yet friendly eyes regarded him, and while he worked he liked to reach forward and run his hand over their snouts and back along their heads, feeling the silken smoothness of angular scales beneath his fingers and the almost palpable bond of trust that he had built up with each of them over his many years in this business.

There was the water and the food, and then the cleaning. A wide broom and a treated iron shovel were the tools he used, though when he first began he needed nose plugs soaked in rosemary oil as well. This last implement had become obsolete to him over the years, and now he almost enjoyed the stench of the beasts, rich and pungent though pleasant in its own way, and quite appreciable. This task was the longest of his morning duties, and still left him with slightly sore shoulders and arms afterwards. That done, he would return to the shed to fetch a bucket, a few rags, and the cleaning solution to prepare for the milking, something of his own special make developed and prepared with the assistance of the royal court's alchemist.

It was a beneficial arrangement for both of them. Ren provided the alchemist with the proper proportions of the various types of dragon urine that she requested, and in return she made up and delivered the solution, to be applied with a careful hand and gentle touch along the rear and underside of each of the beasts in turn.

Part of why Ren chose to perform this task on his own was that, this way, he could enjoy it a little more deeply than would otherwise be acceptable. His mornings truly began when he stepped into each stable, patted the inhabitant along the back, then haunch, then rump, and then kneel down behind and beneath them, careful not to run his head into any part of the beast that might startle them. Then he dipped the rag into the bucket, squeezed out the excess, and kept the wide base of the dragon's tail lifted with one hand so he could circle in with the other, spreading away the remnant grit and grime of the night, teasing in along the supple folds of the genital slit for those that had them, and feeling the stirring warmth of the length hidden within.

The thing was, he had to be good with his touch. He had_to be able to coax and tease that length at least partially out, and throughout the cleanings, one after another after another, they always ended up at least halfway there - and Ren himself without fail had to adjust his own pants at the end of each stall as well. The chemical yet floral odor of the solution almost,_almost covered the pungent, ammonia-like aroma of the dragons' equipment, yet it still cut through and clung to his nose, even more pleasant and intoxicating than the rest of them. With the cleanings done he would return this bucket and rags to the shed, would sometimes wash his hands off - and sometimes not, instead keeping the scent on his fingers so he could refresh it in his nose every now and again - and then push out the cart that bore the thick-walled glass containers for the actual milking.

These containers were also specially prepared and treated, of course, the glass itself infused with a portion of the product of each of the dragons in turn, and they were not cheap to produce or purchase. This task, usually, went fairly quickly and easily so long as Ren did not get distracted along the way. Sometimes it was hard not to: again he had to kneel down behind the beasts, his head directly level with their undercarriage, and slide the container into place with the funnel angled up and back. The beasts he kept, again, were quite well-trained, knowing not to release their products save for at his bidding - and the signal was one hand reaching forward and along their lower belly, rubbing at the ballooning weight of the full bladder, while the other came down and teased along the half-revealed shaft for those that were slitted. Having them halfway erect helped with aiming, and Ren could angle them downwards to more fluidly fill the containers.

The fire, lightning, and wind dragons, all distantly related through some genetic turn, were the ones with a smooth, sleek underbelly, equipment snug and hidden within warm, moist genital slits. It was the earth, the water, and the sand dragons that had a bit of a wider stance to their hind legs, with quite a bit more heft hanging down beneath in the form of a heavy sack behind a plump yet tight sheath. These latter three required a slightly different approach, in that Ren had to reach around the side of that sack to work his fingers along the sheath, rolling the lip back to reveal the tip, then gently rubbing along that while pressing up and massaging at the bladder.

Or, he should move his arm to the side. The falcon preferred, though, to lift his arm right up between those balls, to feel their weight and heft on either side as he coaxed the urine from the tap, the stench almost overwhelming, rich and sharp, salty and so, so pungent. Sometimes he had to take a moment to catch his breath afterwards and wait for the stables to stop spinning around him. Other times he would let his fingers stray just half an inch too far and interrupt the stream, so he could feel the blistering heat first and then bring that finger to his mouth afterwards.

This product was almost universally applicable. Alchemists, of course, desired it for its potency and range of uses from potions to poisons to solvents and other things; more mundane farmers diluted it one to twenty-seven parts with water and used it as a repellant for other predators; it had its chemical applications, clearly; and then the majority of his income came from dispensing it directly to nobility and aristocracy, who had a tendency to view it as a powerful beneficial elixir, banishing the evidence of age and purging disease, and strengthening the body and mind.

Today Ren cupped his hand beneath the hanging sheath of the sand dragon, his other lifting up and massaging at the bladder. Hadyx, this one's name was; the falcon smiled and rubbed his fingers in along the underbelly, little words of gentle encouragement on his breath to help coax out the solution. He took just a small bit of the first spray, as it quickly began to sear in through his skin both from its temperature and its chemical content - and, hand still cupped, he tilted it back and took a sip, his mouth immediately curling with the intense pungency and the burning sting, with the sharp heat trailing all the way down his throat and into his belly.

"Good boy, Hadyx," Ren murmured, still able to feel the spice on his breath. As he passed by he patted the sand dragon's wide, solid rump. "Never a disappointment, you. Let's see if Zalara is just as compliant today..." That scent and taste tainted his breath afterwards, so strong that he could still taste it even after he had moved on to the lightning dragon, and then Halen the water dragon after that as well. It was a good, rich flavor, full and bright, precisely what he had planned for with his feed mixture.

Following the milking all he needed to do was apportion out the amounts to fulfill the orders that had come in since the previous day, and then bottle and mark those orders and send them out. His favorite customers he delivered himself, and if he was lucky, they would invite him in and ask him to partake of the tasting with them. Oftentimes the falcon would return to his ranch with a belly and bladder both fit to burst - and it sizzled on its way out just as much as it did on the way in, and usually that was a feeling that he couldn't resist enjoying afterwards. Sometimes he even saved his own "product" for another round.

By the time he returned from his usual deliveries and errands the sun had just begun to drop down below the other side of the horizon, as usual; long experience from many years in the business had given Ren a solid grip on the pace at which to take everything. He had also started reserving a little bit extra for his own stores from the milking at the start of each week - after all, what was the point of being a farmer if he couldn't enjoy his own produce? Tonight he sat down over his dinner with a small amount of the sand dragon's, the glass in which he held it clear so that he could regard the color along with the taste. Bright and sharp yet still full and pleasant, a bit more of the pungent dry spice on the back of the throat with a distinctive kick to it that the other types didn't have. The sand dragon's product was said to help with confidence and strength of mind, which he might need for the upcoming inspection tomorrow.

Well, the falcon thought as he began getting ready for the night, I won't need it. I never have. It'll just be nice to have.

_ _

And he was right. The night went with a little bit of coaxing, Ren gritting his teeth while remembering the touch and feeling and scent and taste of the dragons while milking them, squirming on his bed and bucking up into his hand... and then the morning came and he did it all over again. Today, though, instead of immediately heading out to begin his tasks he waited in the house for the inspector - and soon enough saw him over the next hill, coming along the road that led straight around into the city and to the palace itself, its tallest towers just barely visible in the distance on a clear day.

Ren and Tyron were a little more than acquaintances, but a little less than friends. They each enjoyed these monthly routine inspections: the falcon was at his heart quite proud of his work and how far he had come and wasted no opportunity to show it off especially to someone as important as the castle's inspector, while the crested gecko enjoyed revisiting the familiar trade and ensuring efficiency and quality were both the best they could be. And for both of these points, Ren was simply the best in the business.

Ren stepped outside and raised a hand into the chill morning air at the approaching figure. Leaning on his cane with one hand, Tyron raised the other to receive and return the greeting, and within another few minutes Ren had met him just past the gates of the ranch to lead him in.

"Brisk today," the older reptile said, bunching his cloak more tightly around himself. "I trust you have everything prepared? I'd like to get back to the warmth of the palace as soon as I can, no offense."

"Yes, yes, of course. If you'll just follow me - I'll reintroduce you to everyone. I've been trying out a new formula for the feed, and I think it's doing well to bring out the taste and quality of each of the breeds."

"Good, good. I'm looking forward to it. You really have been a boon to the business, you know, Ren." Tyron wiped at his nose. "I thought I had it good back when I was in your shoes, but - gods, it still stuns me to see you have six to your name."

The large doors of the stables swung closed behind them with a burst of cool air, growing steadily warmer as the morning deepened. The natural body heat of the dragons in here against the treated stone walls helped as well; Ren felt Tyron relax beside him, his thick cloak shifting down over the reptile's slim shoulders.

"Ahh. Smell that." Tyron lifted his blunted nose to the air. "I'm supposed to deduct you for odor, but just like last time, you've got it well under control without covering it beneath artificial perfumes. If I had to guess, I'd say... fire for sure, earth and water, lightning and wind, and... sand, yes?"

Ren chuckled. "I'd be more impressed if you hadn't been here just one turn of the moon ago."

The gecko half-opened his eyes, the broad gemstones flicking over to appraise him. "Saw through that, didn't you? Anyway - where shall we start? I am thirsty this morning, and the weather's been getting to me. Cold-blooded, you know."

"I thought so. I had some of the sand's myself last night. Very good, I think. We can start with the fire."

"I was hoping you would say that. You still do everything by hand?"

"Myself, yes." Ren guided the older gentleman around towards the stalls, unlatched the door, and then allowed him to take a look around while he worked at his morning routine. "I apologize again if it's not much to look at."

"No, no. You do your thing. You've got... such a beauty here..."

As he refilled the feed and water troughs Ren watched Tyron over his shoulder. The gecko kept his cane tucked under his arm, investigating the beast itself: he ran thin-scaled fingers over the thicker hide of the dragon, following the lines and patterns of more angular, plated armor scales towards the back, and then from there under to the softer, smoother flesh, like the belly of a snake.

"Nice and clean. You still keep up with that yourself, too, yes?"

"Of course."

"Too often I've seen larger operations that leave out the little things - and then you end up with cloudy, impure product... bah. I always look forward to when it's time to inspect your outfit, Ren, since I know I'll always be pleasantly impressed."

The falcon turned back around and scooted around him, reaching to return the water bucket to its holder. "Thank you," he said. "Your vote of confidence is reassuring. I do my best with what I've been given, and if I say so myself, I've been given a lot."

"Indeed you have." That was likely the most visible result of the falcon's hard work and dedication: most similar ranches and farms barely exceeded two or three dragons, while he had acquired six to his name over the years. It helped that he had started out with two, the fire and lightning, and then earned the third as a special gift from Inspector Tyron himself, who had also been in the business until his later years; and then as his operations and wealth grew, he fed the latter of these back into the former and just stoked the flames further, so to say. "Nobody can say you're squandering that, either. Are we ready?"

"We are. Would you like me to get you-"

"Ah." Tyron shifted his cane to his other arm so he could reach into his cloak, a second later taking out the same little glass that he had brought with him for every other inspection. It was a rough, handmade little thing, somewhat sloppily engraved with what Ren could only assume was his house's coat of arms. "Who do you think I am? I brought my own."

"Of course you did." Ren had prepared, too. He slid his own little glass out of his back pocket, this one treated with a general mixture against the qualities of the urine. The treatment had given it a vaguely metallic, iridescent sheen - the glassmaking itself was part of the procedure that he had indeed commissioned from someone else, and while it had remained so far a personal endeavor, he had thought about expanding it to a wider scope. "Here, let me - I'll take care of it..."

Tyron grunted as he made his way around to the other side. "I need to watch, of course. Standard procedure. This one's... Felix?"

"Of course." Ren smiled at him from the other side of the dragon, kneeling down behind it with his head around the hind leg. "I don't believe I've changed my method at all, but as always, I'm listening for recommendations and suggestions. And my fire's name is Falaja. Close."

"Ah, yes. That's my memory. One of your best behaved, yes?"

"Absolutely. They're all extremely well-trained, but Falaja's the best of the best. Aren't you, love?..."

And so he went on, beginning with the familiar touch and brush, finding the right spots, sliding first one and then a second finger into the genital slit there. He had learned each of these dragons' bodies and their preferences, Falaja and Hadyx and Zalara and the others, and as such had to modify his technique a bit for each one individually. Tyron watched as he worked, the dragon's shaft dropping and lengthening out between Ren's fingers, then leaned in a little closer as he angled it forward and down towards the glasses... and past that warm, glistening flesh he still saw the gecko's nose wrinkle, both with the dragon's natural musk as well as the higher, brighter bite of the urine itself.

Ren struggled a bit to pinch off the stream once those glasses were full, but of course he didn't mind the overflow trickling down his fingers and hand and then sloshing a bit further when he stood up. Tyron took an extra moment to pull himself up along his cane and then reached out for his glass, nodding thanks when Ren handed it to him.

"Ooh." The gecko lifted it to the light streaming in through the slats between the roof. "Look at that color. Too many farmers dilute their fire dragon's product too much since the bright red scares them off."

"I remember when I made that mistake." Ren ran the glass beneath his nose, loving the stinging sizzle that the scent brought to the back of his throat. "It was you that convinced me otherwise, actually."

"Yes, and even so, you didn't do it anywhere nearly as bad as what I've seen. Shall we?"

Most of those who enjoyed his products as a drink did so in one quick, hard shot. Tyron did not: he tilted his glass back slowly, deliberately, letting it roll back over his tongue and fill his cheeks, and even after Ren had swallowed it down and grimaced against the sharp spice the gecko was still pondering the taste. After another moment he did the same, though, and shook his head, blinked his eyes, and licked his lips.

"Wow." The inspector coughed. "You said you're trying a new feed?"

"Yes sir. It's tweaked a little bit for each one based on their natural diets."

"It's doing wonders, I see. On to the next one, then? You know, one of my favorites is to mix it one to three parts with whiskey and-"

Ren grinned. "A touch of lemon juice?"

Tyron returned the smile. "Oh, have I said this before?"

"No, but I've done my research. You likely know it as well, but..." The falcon motioned to the next stall. "Lightning mixes well with rum, of all things. And a little bit of sweetener."

"Oh, that does sound like a delight..."

Where the fire dragon carried a notable spice and lingering bite afterwards, Zalara the lightning dragon's product took all of that and presented it right at the front. It took a bit of extra coaxing, Ren leaning in around Zalara's neck and murmuring his little encouragements into the dragon's ear, but once it started it really showed how full the dragon had been.

"Come on, do me a favor, beautiful... oh, yeah, _there_we go. That's good - oh, you've been waiting, haven't you? Good, very good, Zalara, dear..."

He patted the dragon along the side as it came, then kept the glasses underneath to catch the last few drops even after he had stopped. Ren actually couldn't drink more than half of the little glass as once for the heat it spread across his tongue and mouth, and it seemed that even Tyron had a little bit of trouble handling it.

"Gods," the gecko remarked. "That one's potent. That'll bring you a lot of steady customers, especially among alchemists."

"He really does."

The wind dragon gave probably the most subtle of flavors, though that one was still far sharper than any liquor Ren had ever tasted. It was almost herbal in its undertones and aftertaste, with a pleasant cooling sensation against the spicy heat. Tyron commented that this one mixed well with equal parts milk for a powerful and effective method of waking up in the mornings. After this one Ren led him over to the other side of the stables, where the gecko knelt down and got at least two handfuls of each of these in turn with their external genitalia.

"Good heft..." he remarked, rubbing each of the water dragon's balls in turn. "Oh. And a good feeling, too. Comfortably warm, considering their cold blooded nature... and the sheath is good and moist, too. Do you mind if - I-?" He ran a pair of fingers along the lip at the end.

Ren motioned his permission. "Go ahead. Cleaned twice a week."

Halen, the water dragon, wriggled a little bit with the sensation but otherwise did not complain. Ren didn't worry - Tyron had least as good a touch with the beasts as he did, even unpracticed as he was. When he slid those fingers back out, a thin strand of slickness hung between the two of them.

"That's good, too. A little bit of humidity is perfect - it's a hard balance to strike in captivity."

"Don't have to tell me that. Would you like to tap this one? Halen's almost as well-behaved as Falaja, and he does great with others."

"Technically I need to have you do all of them, but..." Tyron scratched his chin, then reached out for the falcon's glass. "Yes, I would. Thank you."

He had a different touch and method than the one Ren had developed for himself, but still the dragon eagerly dropped and began for him, and stopped just as easily as well. Tyron took a sip of his sample, brighter and lighter in color than those across the stables, and then handed the other to Ren. The final two Ren handled himself, with his hand positively soaked and dripping with the missed product by the end of it. While discussing the last notes of the earth dragon's, expectedly earthy of course, the falcon lifted his hand to his beak and drew his tongue over the skin to catch the missed drops. Tyron's big eyes flicked over to watch and he raised his eyebrows, though he didn't falter in his description or speech at all. Still he held his own glass in his other hand; in a pause he lifted it to his mouth and tapped the back of it to coax out the last few drops, warm yellow, salty with the muted touch of rich soil.

"So," Ren went on. He led the inspector away from the stables and back up towards the shed. "Do you have any recommendations for _that_one? The earth?"

The gecko shook his head. "Not for drinks, no. I take it straight - it's supposed to help with longevity which, as you can see, I am quite advanced in."

"I think you've been an inspector longer than I've been alive..."

"I would reckon the same! But, yes - it's good taken straight since, as you know, it's the least... offensive of the batch. But, surprisingly, it also makes for a good soup base."

"Is that right?"

"It is. Where the sand makes for a great additive to a meat stew, the earth's is great in a vegetable based soup."

"I suppose I can see that."

"Oh, yes! You ought to try it sometime." Tyron chuckled, leaning on his cane every other step to help him along the way. "It's not like you're at any scarcity of the stuff."

"And I'm not so absorbed in turning a profit that I can't enjoy it myself. Would you like to see the materials I'm using for the jars?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I received a delivery just yesterday from the palace alchemist with your signature on it. I _must_get in touch with your glassmaker - as always, your quality is stellar..."

That brought a genuine smile to the falcon's face. He inclined his head. "Thank you. Always high praise, coming from you. Oh - I made sure to gather an extra bottle of your favorite during yesterday's milking. Would you like me to get that for you?"

Once inside the shed Tyron rubbed his hands together to warm them up, spreading the remnant wet slickness of the piss between his fingers. "Oh, of course, of course. If you expect it to improve my report of you, though, you're sorely mistaken!"

Busy with the shelves on the other side of the shed, Ren briefly glanced back at him. For a flash of a second the gecko met his eyes, grinned, and then looked away again.

"Not that it would help much," Tyron went on. "I don't see us cancelling our contract with your farm anytime soon. From what I've seen over my years, you're simply the best there is."

"Gods." Ren bent down, going through each of the jars he had kept in reserve. Some of these were for advance orders while others he kept to age; just like everything else, each of the individual types developed different traits and tastes as their age advanced, with some of his most valuable products being the five-year quadruple-distilled water dragon urine. He had never tried it himself, but apparently a small-scale operation over the mountains to the east where he shipped it used it as a base for alcohol. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to get something out of me. Here."

"Thank you. This one's from... Zalara, right? Do you need the jar back? I have some back at the palace from my own days in the business. And, hey..." Tyron's sharp eyes again flicked up to the falcon for a second before he looked back at the jar. Through the one night he had had it sitting on the shelf it had begun to develop a little bit of cloudiness. If anything, that was a mark of quality and purity; artificially preserved or otherwise chemically treated product avoided some of that. "If you want to start making a regular delivery to my quarters, I certainly wouldn't turn them down. Eastern wing, through the second courtyard, within view of the two church towers."

Ren waved a hand. "I'll think about it. Don't worry about the glass. It's usually included in the price of delivery, so it's only fair that it's part of the gift too. And - yes, Zalara."

"Ah, he's a real beauty. You really are lucky. Well, thank you. I appreciate it." The gecko popped the lid and leaned in to take a sniff. Also unsurprisingly, it immediately made his nose scrunch up and caused his lips to tighten and twitch - not only was it fairly fresh dragon urine, but it had been sitting for a while, too. "Ooh. That's good stuff. If that's everything, then, I'll be on my way. As expected, you and your stock are doing beautifully, Ren. I'll look forward to next month's inspection just as much as this one."

"Likewise. Here, I'll walk you to the gates. Not to pry, but have you ever thought about getting a new cane? That one looks - be careful; it's wet - looks like it's about as old as you are."

"That's because it is! Oh, I'm fine. I've still got a spring in my step. Thank you again, Ren." Once at the gates Tyron turned, bowed his head, and reached out to shake the falcon's hand. The remnant wetness between them stuck and mixed together and added a bit of a tug when they broke the grip. "I'll notify you with the official results once it's all tabulated. I foresee another stipend from the palace coming your way."

"Absolutely. Thank you as well. Stay safe on your way back."

Once more Ren couldn't keep the smile off of his face, due about as much to the results as it was to how he could still taste the rich, motley spice of all of the dragons' marks, still lingering in the back of his throat and warming his belly. After watching the crested gecko make his way back along the path towards the hill, jar full of yellow-orange liquid sloshing heavily beneath his arm, Ren turned back to start his day anew. There was still today's full milking to get through, after all, and he was still thirsty.