Taivon: Book Three of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Two

Taivon stood, right on the edge of the cliff. Yellowstone's vast, breathtaking display was laid out before him. The green trees, natural foliage, flat plains, and the mountains all looked back at him, pleading in their silent tongue to keep the people away. Their imaginary brows were raised, as if to ask why he had gone against their wishes and had brought these tourists into their territory.

He looked back at his group, wondering the exact same thing. Numbering about twenty, this group of tourists was exactly like all the others. They defiled this environment with their mere, disgusting presence. Canvas shorts rode high on round bellies, white socks came up to pasty mid-calf, eyes locked onto phones, and the scent of sunscreen invaded the fresh, nature air.

Scowling, he picked up a dead twig from the ground. Its coarse texture rasped against his palm, knots in the bark getting caught underneath his fingernails. He always did this. Whenever he was scheduled to lead a tour up the trails and had to deal with bratty kids whose parents spoiled them rotten, Taivon picked up a twig and smoothed away the bark. He'd then leave the naked twigs underneath a tree, creating piles at all of his spots.

Here, at Lookout Point, his spot was underneath a lodgepole pine tree a few feet up the trail. Its pile was much larger than that of the other scenic points. Taivon blamed it on the trail's distance. He'd found that the shorter the trails were, the more people wanted to hike up them. And more people only led to bad things. He'd experienced that firsthand, even when he'd been down in Florida, working at the Everglades.

Everybody wanted this, and everybody wanted that. They wanted everything, and they wanted it done quickly. Which was why a half mile trail was perfect for tourists like these. They'd snap a few pictures, complain either about the heat or the cold, and then follow him back to the visitor center where they'd go over all of the beauty.

Looking over his shoulder at his group, Taivon didn't see how they could say such things. More than half of them were on their phones, the other half looking bored to death, as if they already knew everything there was to know about Yellowstone.

“Let's go,” he told them, backing away from the cliff's edge.

As one, they all looked up at him, taking their eyes off their precious phones and taking their minds out of society. None of them appreciated this complex, natural beauty laid out in front of them to absorb. An automatic scowl crawled its way up his face as he thought about his duty to this land and how he had failed it, forcing Taivon to literally wipe it away.

“Thank God,” a rounded woman said, fanning her reddened face with a chubby hand as she stood up.

He ignored her and the rest, only parting their sea of bodies as he led them back down to the trail. Most didn't say anything as they walked down the gravel, the heaviness of their breaths not allowing room for words.

“It's hot as balls out here,” another told the rest of the group, drawing a few chuckles.

Taivon just grunted, neglecting to mention that the scrotum was actually kept at a cooler temperature than the rest of the body. He didn't want to say anything to them anymore, because if he did, he knew that a snappy retort would come out, and another complaint would be filed against him.

He seemed to be getting a lot more of those these days.

Gripping the park ranger key in his pocket, Taivon held onto that piece of metal until they were all the way down, in the parking lot. He passed all their other vehicles, heading straight to the park rangers' SUV.

With dull gray seats and big enough to keep him from feeling cramped, it was just like his. His own, however, was more environmentally friendly than this one. It got more miles to the gallon and let out cleaner emissions. His Acura even started on the first key turn, unlike this piece of shit.