Page 8 of Rauf: Minotaur Mates

Impressive. He wasn’t even straining.

“Come on.” Rauf’s voice was gruff, but I felt it all the way down to my toes.

Rauf carried the goat across the road, and I grabbed my bag before hurrying after him. The fence surrounding the farm leaned in three different directions. Some rails were fresh-cut wood, some had gone gray with weather, and one section had been tied together with wire. It shouldn’t have stayed upright, but there it was, keeping the animals on the correct side. Mostly.

The rest of the place wasn’t much prettier. The house had a patch of metal covering part of the roof and steps worn down in the middle. A trough sat beside the barn with one corner propped up on a flat stone. Even the barn doors were two slightly different colors, like one had been borrowed from another building.

Nothing had been abandoned, though. Water filled the trough. The fields beyond it had been planted in straight rows, and tools hung beneath the barn’s overhang, cleaned and ready to use.

Rauf’s truck was parked beside the house. Up close, it looked even older than it had in town. The hood didn’t quite match the body, the passenger door was a shade darker than the rest, and the front bumper had been welded in at least two places.

Maybe it was an aesthetic choice. Farmhouse salvage chic, with a strong emphasis on tetanus.

He shouldered open one of the barn doors and led me into a wide aisle lined with stalls. The air inside was warmer and thick with hay, animal musk, and something sharp I couldn’t identify. Rauf chose an empty stall near the door and lowered the goat onto a clean bed of straw. The animal’s legs folded beneath him without a fight.

“We have some supplies. Wait here.” He left before I could ask what some supplies meant or make any requests.

The goat made a sad sound. “It’s okay, buddy.” I stroked his fur and wished I had something else I could offer him.

I started at his head and worked my way back. There were no cuts beneath the matted fur, no swelling around the jaw, and no obvious sign that something had bitten him. I pressed carefully along his neck and shoulders. He didn’t flinch.

His legs were the same. No heat in the joints, no break I could feel, and nothing stuck in the strange little cleft of his hooves. When I flexed each limb, he let me move him without protest. That worried me more than a struggle would have.

I put my hand against his ribs. His breathing was too shallow, but his lungs didn’t rattle. His belly felt soft. I could rule out a dozen injuries and still have no idea what was killing him.

“What happened to you, my guy?”

“What?” Rauf startled me so much I might have jumped if that wouldn’t have spooked the goat.

“Just trying to get a patient history,” I muttered, cheeks blazing hot.

Rauf had returned without making a sound, which shouldn’t have been possible for a man his size. He crouched on the other side of the goat, close enough that heat rolled off his body and warmed my bare forearm. The barn suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment ago.

“Do you speak glow-goat?” I asked.

“Do you?”

I thought he smiled, but I wasn’t sure.

He set a dented metal case in the straw and opened it. The supplies inside were neatly organized: rolled bandages, antiseptic, syringes in sealed packets, a few bottles with faded labels, and several basic medicines I recognized.

“You have a veterinarian come out here?” I asked.

“When we can get one.”

I found a pair of gloves that almost fit, a small light, and a thermometer whose controls made sense after I pressed the wrong button twice.

A faded reference card inside the lid listed healthy glow-goat vitals. His temperature sat above the listed range, not dangerously high but enough to support an infection. I lifted his lip again and got a better look at his gums. They should have been a healthy pink or whatever passed for healthy in his species. Instead, they were washed out near the teeth and darkened to a bruised violet farther back.

He barely reacted when I pressed them. The color returned too slowly beneath my fingertip. His eyes tracked the light, but sluggishly, and there was a faint cloudiness at the edges that I hadn’t noticed outside.

Then there was the smell. Something bitter enough to sting my nose sat beneath the hay and manure. I leaned closer to the goat’s mouth, then wondered if it came from the barn. Or Rauf. Maybe glow-goats always smelled that bad. Alien veterinary medicine really needed a better orientation program.

I sat back on my heels. “He’s dehydrated, lethargic, and running a fever. His gums are discolored and his eyes don’t look right. Does any of that sound normal for these animals?”

Rauf shook his head and stood. “He should be brighter.”

“What?” I was so caught up in examining the goat I almost forgot he was standing over my shoulder.