sharkrags

COYOTE
DAUGHTER

sharkrags
 1
The sun dipped beneath the edge of the desert. Fiery
paint streaked across the sky for miles. Jagged mountains
cast shadow over the rusted earth, the prickly grass, and
the lone woman walking towards the oncoming night.

Only the crunching of boots over hard soil marked her

passage. Broiling heat ebbed as the sun drifted to the
other side of the world. The dry air cooled and she
breathed easier. Already the bulging rucksack on her back
felt lighter. It marked the only relief after a long day
without a single cloud between the sun and herself.

Barrel cactus and sonoras dotted the ground, rustling

from the hot wind. The sight of pitch-black mountains
matched long-ago memories of watching the sun set.
However, those memories belonged to someone different,
slightly different, from who walked across the sand.
The sun wouldn't bake her to death if she dropped her
pack and sat down for a moment or two. Catch her breath,
take a sip of water. Instead, she reached into one of the
sack's pockets and pulled out a square cloth smaller than
her palm. She pulled the thin string holding the fabric
together and fingered the tuft of fur inside.

Strips of grass and sticker burrs matted the pebble

stained fur together. She rolled the course fur between her
fingers and loosened the dirt between its strands. She held
it close and breathed deep.
Aromas of dried grass, panting tongues and dried

1
blood swirled inside her mind and collapsed into the shape
and memory of her mother. Years separated the last time
the two met. She never forgot the scent, but never
expected to breath it in again.

Her sense of smell was not what it used to be. The

recognition dulled in her nose, but she still caught the
scent of death lurking inside the fur

Knuckles bulged as her grip tightened around the lock.

She continued walking despite the deep fatigue in her legs.
Somewhere in this desert, her mother lay either dying or
dead. Someone -one of her brothers undoubtedly, saw fit
to send her a message.
She walked across the darkening ground until spotting
a clump of rock and shrubs standing sentry. With luck, it
would suit her needs. Hard branches tugged the denim
around her waist as she trudged toward the stone. She bit
her lip and circled the rock, pushing aside gnarled shrubs
and found a narrow recess in the stone.

Unfriendly roots cluttered the cramped space. Perfect

for now. She didn't need comfort, only a moment of
privacy. She slid the rucksack off her shoulders, setting it
against the stone with care. She disappeared inside the
rock and spent a quick moment ripping out sharp plants.
The woman needed breathing room and stray thorns
would not help matters. Roots curled around fingers and
nipped through her gloves.

She threw out one last armful of grass and dragged

her pack inside. She slid off her gloves and unhooked a
metal flask of water from her pack and drank deep. Water
was always an uncertainty in this place, that much she
remembered. Her pack carried a few more canteens, but
she would not leave the crevice with her pack.

2
 She screwed the cap back on, then removed her
clothes in the darkness. She unknotted the laces on her
hardy boots. Leg by leg, she took off her jeans and folded
them away. She undid her sweaty shirt button-by-button
and slid it down her arms. Dark hair tumbled over her
shoulders after untying her ponytail. The crevice felt
stifling after baking in the sun all day, still, her bare skin
relaxed at the touch of open air.

After folding her clothes away, she dug deep into her
sack until reaching what lay at the bottom.

Her eyes leered into the bag. She reached in and

removed a roll of white canvas, her grip gentle,her
movements cautious, almost afraid something inside might
wake up. She set the wrap on the ground, resting both
palms against its top.

News of her mother arrived unexpectedly, as bad

news always does. Several days ago, a cardinal landed on
the branches of the mesquite tree growing behind her
home. The bird called and called, then flitted away in a
red-and-black blur once she stepped outside. Even before
touching the lock the bird left behind, she knew what it
meant.

Her legs carried her inside the house before realizing

what she was doing. She packed only what was in arm’s
reach, and pulled the canvas from its hiding place before
rushing from her home.

For years it it held something unknown to her

children, and only spoken of in whispers with her husband
if it needed to be spoken of at all. But it always crept in the
misted back of her mind and ran free in her dreams. Long-
hidden, out of sight, but never, ever forgotten.
Wire criss-crossed the wrap, holding it tight, ensuring

3
no one could get in easily, and nothing could get out. She
took a deep breath and her fingers undid the web of knots.

The wrapping unrolled across the ground, exposing

the coyote skin inside.

Despite years hidden inside cloth and darkness, the

skin lost none of its rich colors. The copper brushes of fur
remained bright, feathered with streaks of deep black and
roasted gold. She forgot how well it matched her mother's
fur. Maybe her own looked a little brighter, but Mother
always was coarse.

A strong animal odor filled the recess, as if a beast

hustled inside the cave, panting after running across sun-
baked plains.

Her head spun. The dirt floor and stone walls fell
away. For a moment she breathed the thick, sweet air of
Chuparosa in bloom. Her feet burned while leaping across
boulder trails ringing the hillsides. She squinted as the
dawn broke and set fire to the sky, running alongside her
family, heads high until-
She sat alone in the dark, back pressed against the
burning stone, hands clutching her pulsing chest. Sweat
ran down her body and her eyes glistened.

The coyote skin remained on the canvas wrapping.

The pelt's sand-colored edges rippled as wind slipped in
from outside. She almost thought it breathed on its own,
ready pounce should her fingers came too close.

She steadied her breath. She had nothing to fear from

the skin. The pelt belonged to her, after all. Not she to it.
On hands and knees, she crawled towards the skin.
Knuckles whitened as she grabbed the pelt by the

4
scruff. Soft fur coiled around her fingertips.

She threw the pelt over her shoulders, fitted the

coyote cowl over her face and stared at the night through
empty holes. The pelt warmed as it draped across her
sweating back.

Nothing to fear. And yet-

A thing like this cannot be done lightly, or often. She

knew more than most the nature of skin, and what skin
wants.

Skin remembers its shape, even when separated from

the body it once protected. On its own, skin is a dead thing,
to say nothing of what it once covered. Still, skin
remembers many things -scent, colors, and scars.

But unlike most scraps of skin, hers remembered

being left behind.

And more than anything else, the skin wanted her

back.
The pelt jumped, wrapping around her throat and
arms. Fur gripped her stomach and clutched her hips.
Peppered streaks crawled across her body, dragging her
inside its folds.

She coughed as the pelt tightened around her ribcage.

It reached down her waist and coiled around her thighs.
She wheezed as fur sealed itself across the center of her
torso and pushed the air out her lungs.

Fur roped around her neck and she fell to the ground,
clutching her throat. But the pelt gripped her arms,
circling down her wrists like sleeves, forcing them into a
shape made to run on all fours.

5
 The cave cracked as the bones inside her chest
snapped outwards into a barreled curve.

Her heels scraped grooves into the dirt as her thighs

cracked alongside her hips, twisting and bending to match
what her skin remembered. Fur gripped like a vice,
forming her hands and feet into leathery paws.

An inhuman spine arched over the dirt. Her body

twisted, and she fell on thin forelimbs whose growing
claws scratched the ground.

A moan, low and shaky, escaped her throat as the cowl

ebbed down her cheeks and clamped her jaw shut. Her
face stretched into the pointed head of the cowl. The eye
holes sealed and her world turned black.

She heard breath rushing in and out of her snout until

the world fell silent as her ears folded into the tall tufts on
top of the hood.

Furred ears twitched

until the sound of
breathing filled her
head again, along
with her heart
hammering in her
curved chest. The
coyote skin, her skin,
pulsed around her
body.

Beneath the
spreading fur,
muscles
compacted,
doubled over,
6
breaking and knitting, whatever needed to match the
memory of her blood. Her body shrank, turning sleek and
hardy. Sand-painted fur rippled over muscles bulging in
her back.

Her eyes opened, tree-bark brown and ringed with

gold. A pale tongue slipped out between her jaws, sliding
over the rise and fall of her teeth. She breathed through
the black nose at the tip of her snout, smelling the tinged
odor of pain and sweat mixed with desert air.

The sweetness of primrose filled her nose, and once

again she left the rock and was taken somewhere else a
long time ago.
A different time, when she believed herself too clever to
know prickly pear’s thorns and ventured too close to taste
its fruits. Another breath. Nosing through tufts of
beardgrass to snap the small creatures crawling beneath
its tangles. Cold nights in hard seasons spent digging
through the cruel soil hoping to find anything worth eating,
even if it tried biting back.

She shook until her ears slapped the side of her face,
and pulled back to the dark recess.

Four narrow legs trembled as her change seeped

deeper than flesh, pushing aside muscle, blood, and bone.
The sleeping core of her soul roused itself. The upright
image of the woman shimmered and faded, focusing into
the hard shape of Coyote.

Memories unfit for running or chasing down prey

were tossed aside. The form of her mind turned lean, slick,
as the Coyote shed the burden of Walker thought and
worries. The animal didn’t care about tending perennials
in a garden. The Coyote growled at the memory of sorting

7
through wrappings and cloth every day when simple fur
sufficed. Why wear clumsy boots when paws journeyed so
well across sand and rock? It snorted at the thought of
holding meat over fire because Walker stomachs couldn’t
handle it raw.

But the Coyote paused after coming across the face of

a Walker. Mate, it thought. Not Coyote, but Mate all the
same. The scent and sound of two smaller Walkers flitted
through memory. Not simply Walkers but Walker pups.
Hers. Absolutely hers, to be protected and raised to be
faster and more clever than the things in the world that
sought to harm them. Their Calls echoed in her throat,
trying to find purchase on her tongue.
The Coyote circled these memories in wary strides.

A hand shimmered and ran its fingers through the fur

rippling down the animal's neck.

“Keep these,” whispered the half of herself that stood

on two legs. “They are as much yours as mine.”

The Coyote stared, silent and unblinking, and left the

memories alone.

After many years, the Coyote leapt out of its dark well
and landed on the surface of the desert it once knew, no
longer confined to dream or memory.

The Coyote breathed deep and recognized the faded

scent of Deer. A herd walked through here today. For a
moment, she touched the scent of Wolf as well, and a
shudder ran through her.

The scent of Mother’s fur hit, echoing through her

body and the Coyote remembered why she came.

8
 She breathed once more and caught the smell of
something else like her, and that’s all she needed.

Two instincts pulled at her. She tried to stand, and

asked all the wrong muscles to pull, sending her sideways.
The Coyote scrambled to regain herself and focused on
what she was. Four legs. Four paws. Tooth and fur.

A foreleg took a shaking step towards the moonlit

entrance. Another leg. Her back leg, then the other. Again.
Again, past the shrubs until she hit open ground where she
ran until her legs brought her close to flight.

From high above the rugged expanse, a black shape,

small and lean, rushed across the desert, driven by
memory and no time to waste.

9
 2

The world slid into comfortable grooves of

recollection. She almost believed she never left. Slim legs
spirited her across the rough terrain, following the
invisible yet glowing trail of a scent carved into her
memory. Pack, the scent told her, and she rushed along its
wispy thread.

She did not run long before the trail became a thick
stream in the air, speeding her along to its source. Far-off,
a shape resembling herself stood between a pair of
saguaro cactus, its narrow head standing at attention and
long ears pointing skyward.

It’s scent rang true. Her heart rushed and her speed
almost doubled. The distance vanished like sunlight
touching the ground as she barreled into her brother.

Two shapes danced in the night, prancing in wild

circles, barks and yelps rising and falling like brush fire
flames as the two siblings sang their greetings.

“Wander!” her brother barked. His torso dipped to the

ground, but his thrashing tail kept his backside high in the
air. “Wander, it’s you! You came, you’re here!"

Wander’s joy was dizzied by the sound of her Call

spoken on the Coyote’s tongue once more.

10
 “I am- I am-" Her tongue slipped between her jaws.
The language of her kin trickled into memory. "I
am...come." she said. "Here." She closed her eyes, catching
her breath from the long run, and smelled the heady notes
of grasses her brother loved digging through. "Mouser.
Here I am, Mouser."

She took in the sight of her brother. Mouser always

stood as the smallest of their litter and her time away did
little to change this. While he appeared bonier than she
remembered, his coat looked well-kept, and his eyes
remained bright.
He jumped towards her once more, burying his snout
into her chest.

“You’re here!” he cried again. “After all these summers

and winters After- !” He spun in the dirt and jumped
towards her again.

“Mouser, slow-” she stepped aside and pressed her

snout across his back to calm him and set aside her own
joy. “Wait. There was Bird. Cardinal," she closed her eyes,
forcing herself to remember what drove her here in the
first place. "Cardinal came, found me, den. Came to my
den. Days ago. He holding -was carrying, Mother's fur.”

Mouser’s eyes squinted as he sniffed the air around

her. “Are you felling well? You sound different. Smell
different.”

“Long time, since...talking.” Wander blinked. “Yes, I

am well. Mouser, what of Mother?”

“Yes,” Mouser said, forcing himself still. “Cardinal. We

sent Cardinal to find you. I did not believe he would keep
his promise, but you are here.”

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 “Mother. She smiled like-” Wander paused.
“Wrongness. I smelled Mother, but also stillness. Is she...”
Wander searched for the word, but could not place it. “Is
she still?”

Mouser's ears drooped and he whined, “This

morning.” He slinked to Wander’s side, not looking at her.
“She is...yes, she is still.”

“What happened?”

“Three days ago,” he said. “Mother set off to hunt

Rattlesnake in the hills. She chased him down to the
bottom of a ravine, and he tried to hide inside a thorn bush.
But she followed, and he struck her, filling her with fire," he
said. "She fell for three days as it burned inside her. But
now she is still, as you say.”

Questions filled Wander's head, but Mouser spun in

the dirt and sprinted off before she could ask one. "Come!"
he cried. "I'll take you!"

Wander flinched and almost tripped over herself

trying to catch up with him. “Why would Mother hunt
Rattlesnake? Rattlesnake is- she said told us to never hunt
him. Mother would not do something so fool.”

Mouser nodded. “Burn, his mate gave him a litter. The

pups cannot feed on their own yet. Wander, the season is
hard, and few things run or grow beneath the sun for us to
eat," he huffed. "Burn is having trouble feeding his mate, so
that his litter may drink. Mother hunted Rattlesnake so
that his strength may become their own.”

Burn had a litter? She thought of her second brother,

his always-concerned eyes, the ever-present downturn on
his snout, and the colored stripe running from nose-tip to

12
tail so intense it almost glowed during sunrise. The news
cost her enough speed to let Mouser gain a lead. She
wished the tangled shrubs and jagged dirt slowed him only
a little. It took all of Wander's focus not to loose her
footing and break an ankle.

“But-” Mouser looked back as he ran, not losing a bit

of speed. “Even as Rattlesnake struck her with fire, she
struck back. Rattlesnake is dead.”

“But mother is still?" she called.

“Yes,” he cried. “She lays where Rattlesnake struck.

Burn is with her, but he is-" Mouser shook his head and ran
faster. "No time for words," he barked. "Run!"

13
 3

Mouser led her to a split in the earth running

between the hills. He flew down the swirling stone and
trees clinging to ravine walls until he reached the base,
stopping only when he found her.

As promised, Mother lay with closed eyes beneath a

thorn bush's wilting branches. Moonlight rimmed the
edges of her black lips, fur flecked with dried saliva. Even
from a distance, Wander smelled Rattlesnake’s fire lurking
inside her body.

Her hands covered her mouth, or would if they

weren't encased in paws.
Burn stood tall over Mother's body, his orange ruff of
fur stood high down the length of his back, his dark eyes
wide, prepared to fight off anything that tried to take her.

He caught sight of the approaching Wander and

Mouser as they moved into the shallow canyon. Only his
eyes tracked their motions, and his ears flicked in the
smallest recognition of their approach.

Wander stepped close, trying to hide her exhaustion.

Trying to suppress apprehension. “Burn,” she said.

14
 Burn was the first in their litter, and larger than both
his siblings. If the summer was hard as Mouser claimed,
Burn weathered it with the stubborn determination of a
palo verde tree caught in a drought. But, Wander did
notice his shape ran leaner and his muzzle carried a few
more scratches than the last time the two spoke.

How many suns have passed? How many summers?

His dark eyes stared into her own for a long time. He
snorted.

“Wander,” he said, voice stonier than the ground he

stood on. “I smell the Walker on you.”
Wander said nothing. She padded softly towards
Mother. Burn did not move, only leered as she sniffed
Mother's remains.

The reek almost knocked her sideways. The smell of

ruined insides and Rattlesnake’s vile spit pushed her
dangerously near turning and fleeing. She forced her legs
to stay put. Instead, soft sounds escaped her snout, quiet
calls said only to a close one.
Mother did not move. Wander huffed, nudged her in
the stomach, the gray fur on her neck.

Mother did not move.

A quiet bark passed her lips, and Wonder pressed her

nose against Mother’s stiffening ears, refusing to give into
every urge to run away.

Mother did not move. She lay still.

Wander crouched with her head pressed against

Mother’s own.

15
 Mouser wined quietly.

Wander stepped back and slowly raised herself up.

Burn stepped around Mother.

“Rattlesnake lay dead beside her when I found her,"

Burn began. "She said only one thing. ‘Give.'” Fur rippled
along his snout. “She started shaking not long after and
stopped breathing this morning.”

“Where is Rattlesnake?”

“Making my pups strong,” he said. His eyes fell across

Mother again, and did not move from her. His breath was
shallow, and a glassy look surrounded his eyes.

“You’ve been beside her this entire time?” Wander

asked

“I have.” He looked towards Wander again. “Vulture

comes to take her to the sky, but I chase him off. Vulture
comes for the dead and she is not-”
His mouth stood half-open for a moment as he
struggled with the thought. “Not for him to take, yet."

Silence settled between the three siblings standing in

the moonlight, watching the breathless body beneath the
thorn bush.

Night wind blew the fur around their necks and

carried the sounds of mice scurrying between the rocks,
and birds making quiet flights in the darkness. For once,
Mouser declined to chase after the tiny things, instead
lowering to the ground, paws tucked under his head, as if
Mother might move if he followed her example.

16
 Wander sat, her gaze fixed on Mother. Her unmoving
body churned uneasy thoughts. Mother lay still, and
Wander knew she would not rise again.

Dead flesh lays on the ground, and food is not to be

passed up, said Coyote's instincts. Dead things are meant
to be taken, for oneself, for a mate, for the pack, and
quickly before Vulture comes to claim his share.

No breath, no movement, no noise. Mother did not

sleep. She lay still, soaked in Rattlesnake's essence.

When Rattlesnake bites, something dies, always.

But Mother was not food, said both sides of Wander.

She saw the tangle of survival urges firing inside Burn,

and even Mouser. If she was dead, but not to be fed upon,
then why stay?

Wander knew death ran through the desert deeper

than cracks in the earth. It waited on the tips of the
fractured hillsides, it lurked inside Scorpion’s tail, slept
within foxglove's petals, it came for those who lingered too
long in the sun and failed to �ind water. Death found the
old ones too tired to run. It comes for the young too weak
to �lee. Everyone comes to know Death.

Coyote walked side-by-side with Death its entire life.

Not as friends, no. Companions, perhaps. Coyote is not a
master of Death, like Wolf, but the two sometimes see eye-
to-eye, and for that, Coyote must remain forever grateful,
but watchful. Coyote must lead Death, trick it to take the
lives of little things like Rat, Rabbit, or Squirrel instead of
Coyote. Those things only need grass and fruit to stay
alive. Coyote needs Death to survive.
But Wander also knew Death can only be fooled for so

17
long, and Coyote can only run so fast. As sure as the sun
passes, Death catches everyone. It caught Mother and
Rattlesnake in a single pass.

Dry brush rustled on ravine's edge, breaking her

contemplation. The three Coyotes snapped their heads
toward the sound.

Deer’s shadow lurked over the rim, knowing Coyote

may not reach him. Several of his mates peeked their
heads around him. Deer stood tall, with white moonlight
bouncing off his round eyes and painting his antlers. Deer
said nothing, only watched. A small doe stepped forward,
raising her head above the tangled grass, but Deer
motioned her back.

“Come to see for themselves,” Burn said, unimpressed.

“’Course they came for a peek,” came a gruff voice

behind the Coyotes.

From behind the thorn-bush, Hare lopped towards the

coyotes. “Only a peek though, damn things are too skittish
to get a real good gander.”
The sight of Hare almost sent Wander up and over the
rim. She remembered the crotchety thing from before
taking the Skin. He was already old when she left home,
and now looked beyond ancient. A limp hampered the
relic's steps as he walked around the Coyotes, keeping one
half-lidded eye on them.

Hare was always large for his kind, and even now,
muscle bulged beneath his furry fat. Many Coyote, Burn
among them, could attest that Hare's kick lost none of its
might.
“Take a look, take a look,” Hare shouted to Deer. “Here

18
lies Coyote Mother, dead on the ground. Come as close as
you want, she ain’t bitin’ no one any more.”

The fur on the backs of her children rippled.

Deer snorted and shook his head. Both he and his

herd remained on the cliff's edge.

“Cowards,” Hare spat.

Hare stayed a few small paces away from the body,

and his good eye bounced between the three very-much
alive Coyotes. His scarred nose parsed the air and sneezed.
“Don’t come too close, though. This is Rattlesnake’s doing,
alright. Unmistakable. I always wondered what would
take the old girl down.” His head bobbed while examining
her. “Gave as good as she got, eh? Figure it ain’t a bad way
to go for the likes of her, hah!”

Burn growled, baring the bottom of his fangs. “Don't

push us, old Hare.”

Hare snorted and dust rose around his nose. “I’ll push
what I please while my legs still work, and I might push
some more afterwards.” He turned away from the body
and settled on a stone to watch the three with one eye.

“Coyote always acts strange when one of their kin

falls, you won’t be chomping anyone tonight.”

Mouser snapped, and Wander knew only the slimmest

restraint kept him from pouncing. Mother never could
stop him from chasing after every rat and small furry thing
he caught sight or sound of. At least the habit kept him fed.

Hare rubbed a fore-paw across his whiskered muzzle.

“Coyote Mother,” Hare said, “killed many in my warren.

19
Kits, mates, brothers, sisters. My whole life, I’ve watched
her run them down screaming and bring those jaws
around plenty of necks. Almost nabbed me once or twice.”
Hare looked each
Coyote in the eye. “I
guarantee you’ve
had a few of my
own pass through
your bellies, and
they made you
quick, ah? Coyote
Mother was a
ruthless one. But she
killed clean.”

Hare's dangling ears

twitched. “Rattlesnake took his �ill
as well, but I never liked the way he
killed. It don’t sit right with me that
he only needs one bite. You can get away from him, but his
teeth are still in you. The insides sizzle and you can hear it
from the other side of the hills, and sometimes the poor
bastard lasts long enough to scream.”
He settled on his hind legs and stared the body down.
“I ain’t hear Coyote Mother scream.”

The three remained silent. Wander looked at her

mother’s eyes, shut tight, and her mouth stretched in a
frozen grimace.

“I ain’t gonna insult you three and say I’m sorry to see
her go, but I’m glad she took that stinkin’ whip with her.
Only one around here with enough backbone to do the job.”

Fat paws rubbed his lazy eye before it swiveled and

settled on Wander. “Eh?” He huffed again. “You’re the one

20
who took the Skin and ran off, aren't you? Thought I
smelled Walker.”

Burn held back a small snicker.

“I was called,” Wander said.

“I’m surprised you answered.”

“I remember where I came from.”

The folds on Hare's face looked slightly amused. “I

s'pose that Skin doesn't make you lose everything."
"This isn't your concern, Hare." Burn said.

"Coyote concerns too often becomes my concern,"

Hare said. "Word spread all over about Coyote Mother and
I refused to believe any of it 'til I saw for myself.” Hare
hobbled between the coyotes and paused one more time
next to Mother. "Now my warren will know the truth of it
without risking coming this close to Coyote teeth to find
out."
Slow, lazy hops carried Hare into the dry grass. “I’ll
leave you to her, Coyote Children,” he called to the trio
behind him. “We’ll see if any of you can match her, eh?” He
looked at Wander with both eyes. "Even if some got a little
less in her than you used to."

Mouser snarled and pounced, but Wander slammed

her muzzle across his chest. "Leave it," she whispered.

"He's got a lot of meat on him," Mouser snarled.

"Kill him tomorrow."

Mouser stepped back, growls simmering in his throat.

21
 The grass rustled and Hare disappeared. Deer and his
herd soon followed suit, leaving the Coyote pack alone.

Wander's mouth turned into a thin, hard line around

her snout. Hare's words stung, but her pride could afford
the blow for one night. In all fairness, she did eat her share
of his warren.

Old Hare and his innumerable warren. Deer's Herd.

Coyote's pack. The Walker word for such things echoed
inside Wander. Family. She thought of a Walker and two
pups. Her Walker. Her pups. The Coyote tried holding the
memories next to the sight of her brothers and mother.
Burn sat still as the distant mountains. Mouser grew
agitated and paced in front of the thorn-bush, snapping at
nothing.

"Hare grows too bold," Burn said.

"He's old," Mouser replied. "Only Wolf can match his

growl, but his legs will fail him one day."

Wander shook until the words and thoughts

disappeared. Her head felt ill.

"Hare was right," Burn muttered.

"About what?" Wander asked.

“Rattlesnake was not Mother's to kill, but she was the

only one who thought to do it.

Mouser’s ears perked as he trotted aimlessly. “Many

wanted Rattlesnake dead,” he said. "Many have tried."

“Mother hunted him because I didn't have the courage

to do it first,” Burn said, his voice falling like stones down

22
the cliffside. “My litter cried in my den and I dug for dried
scraps of cholla fruit and half-starved lizards to feed my
mate. Mother went after Rattlesnake.”

Mouser stopped pacing. “The season is dry, and the

sun has taken many. You're doing well, Burn. Many pups
have died in their den for their mothers run empty, or
worse. Your litter is still whole.”

Burn padded around the grass. “My litter is whole but

our kin is one lesser. I dug through the dirt instead of
hunting, and now Mother lies here because I could not
muster the courage to take Rattlesnake for myself. She
should've told me, together we could have-”
“Rattlesnake is quick,” Wander cut in. “Mother
would've known the risks. She always forbid us from
hunting Rattlesnake. How could she expect you to run him
down after warning us all our lives? He could have struck
you both, then two bodies would lay beneath this bush,
and your litter would have no father."

"You leave us," Burn growled, not looking at Wander,

"then return to us reeking of Walker and tell me what I’m
fit to chase down? We may not have Walker’s thunder, but
we're not weak."

Wander's fur rustled along her back. “I never saw you

as weak, Burn, but I remember plenty of times where you
didn't think right. You're blaming yourself for not doing
something stupid. Mother taught you not to be so
foolhardy

"Maybe she she should've focused on teaching you

instead."

Wander froze. "Getting angry at me won't solve

anything."

23
 "Solve anything? No, it wouldn't. Still, I'm not the one
who whisked away in the middle of the night to chase after
the first Walker I saw moving through this place. You took
the Skin and left everything, everything behind. Tell me,
does that sound foolhardy?"

"I didn't-"

"Leave us without saying a word? You didn't do that?

Because I remember almost running over the mountains
after waking up to find you gone."

He moved a single step from Wander's snout. "We

didn't know, Wander," he growled. "We only found out
after Wren told us he saw two Walkers leaving the desert
where only one entered."

Wander's paws dug into the dirt. "I didn't make that
decision easily, I-"

"You didn't even abandon us as yourself," he barked.

"And now the only thing to bring you back is word that one
of us has fallen. No sign, no message from you for seasons
and seasons, and now here you are. Do you think so little
of us, you- " Burn's top row of teeth flashed, "you traitor."

The word left his mouth and nothing could take it

back.

Traitor.

He spat it out after spending years with it rotting in

his stomach and it sounded more vile, sickening, and
horrendous a word than he ever feared.

Burn looked like he wanted to throw up.

24
 "I...I..." The Coyote closed his eyes as his snout
wrinkled. "I can't blame this on you. Mother lies dead,” he
continued, “because I could not keep my den filled. She
hunted to keep bellies full like I was still a pup tripping
over his own paws. You may be foolhardy, but I'm left
paying the price for my cowardice.”

Mouser approached Burn with tentative steps.

“Mother was a proud one, you know this."

The smaller Coyote's head rocked, trying to make up

his mind. "Mother...she spoke to me the day before hunting
Rattlesnake. She said you ran far each day to keep your
young alive. Talked about you stealing food from the
selfish earth and not taking a thing for yourself, giving it all
to your mate so your children may grow. 'A strong father
will raise strong children,' she said.”

Mouser nosed Mother's body. "It struck me as odd.

She never had much breath for kind words. She'd probably
deny saying any of it in the first place. I didn't think she'd
hunt down Rattlesnake."

"But she never had much breath for explanation,

either." Mouser sighed. "And now she has no breath at all. I
should've told you this already, but..." His ears fell limp. "I
thought you look tired enough."

Mouser turned to Burn. “Don't throw blame around,

not on us or yourself. Rattlesnake is dead. Mother is...she
is dead.” Mouser gulped. “But now we are here. Coyote
Mother and Coyote Children. All who lived to receive their
Calls are here. The pack is whole."

Burn looked at Mouser, then slowly turned his head

towards Wander. “The pack is whole," he whispered,
looking at the ground.

25
 Unsettled breath twisted Burn’s snout The Coyote
grasped at something beyond the edge of his heart. Burn
had no words for his unease, nothing to chase, growl at, or
bury. Wander watched the smoke billow inside her
brother, struggling to take shape, desperate for release.

Phantoms drifted inside her. The Walker wanted to

reach out and cradle Mother's body, to hold Burn and
Mouser close and say how horribly she missed them after
running out of their lives all those seasons ago.

But the Coyote sat unmoving, except for the desert

wind threading through gray fur
“The pack is whole,” Wander said softly.

All three sat, avoiding gazes and saying nothing.

After so much time, was silence and guilt the only

thing Burn and herself could offer each other? Wander
took a deep breath. "Your pups,” she said. “Have they
earned their Calls yet?”

Burn’s ears raised and his head lifted higher than

expected. “Not yet, but any day now, I fear."

Wander said nothing, only looking at Burn with a

gentle smile.

"Their mother," he continued, "fights tooth and nail to

keep them in the den. And they are ravenous. I suspect
they’ll eat everything beneath the mountains before
summer is done, and everything beyond them before
winter passes.”

A plain grin spread across his snout. “Rattlesnake’s

strength will only encourage them.”

26
 “I am glad to hear,” Wander said. A fleeting wish to see
them fluttered through her chest. Her brother's young was
a worthy sight. The Walker had a word for those, but it
escaped her, which caused some unease. However, she
knew Burn’s mate would not take kindly to Wander
intruding upon her den while nursing. Loathe as she was
to admit, a den was no place to carry Walker scent.

“And you?” Burn asked. “Has that Walker of yours

given you a reason to stay with him?”

He winced, perhaps wondering if the words came off

more harsh than intended. Wander chose to answer the
question.
“Two pups," she said. "Both grow quick, and they'll
probably ruin the world as well once they leave the...the
den.” Her chest heaved at the thought of her children, far
away and in a different world from where she stood. Before
leaving, she held her pups close, hugging them, and
promising she would only be gone a few days, silently
worrying that a few days was still more than she could
afford.
“Marisol," she tried uttering in Coyote tongue.
"Matteo.”

Curiosity cocked Burn's ears.

“Walker Calls,” she explained, hoping they translated

well enough.

Burn attempted the Calls. “Mari-sol. Matt...Matteo.”

The Calls felt strange in his mouth, but did not taste foul.
He nodded. “It is proper."

“One day-” Wander began before she could stop

herself, “One day, perhaps they will earn their Coyote

27
Calls.”

Burn paused and Mouser sat up. Burn thought

carefully for a moment before speaking again. “You...will
teach them about the Skin?”

In truth, Wander herself was not sure. The thought

existed at the back of her mind from the first swelling of
her belly, but only now left her lips. “I can't keep that
knowledge from them. Both deserve to know what's inside
their blood, where it comes from. But not until the right
season comes.”

Burn stopped to think it over. “So we’ll have Walker

running around on all fours and Coyote standing on
hindlegs." The black edges of his chops twitched. A snort
cracked in his nose. Then his jaws split and raw laughter
spilled out. He whooped and Wander thought he'd fall
over. "Everyone tripping over each other and forgetting
whose Skin belongs to who!”

The Coyote's head shook as he cackled. Mouser

looked worried until Burn calmed himself down and said,
"Wander, you’ll make a mess of things yet. That will be a
long explanation to the pups.”

A small smile touched the edge of her snout. "One day,

perhaps."

Mouser turned towards her, tail wagging. “So if you

return, you and your pups- we may see you again?”

Her smile faded.

“No,” she said, again too fast to consider. “I...by the

time I may return with them, if...” Foggy knowledge
touched the edge of her mind. Many differences lay bare
between Walker and Coyote, and time stood chief among

28
them. Walkers were gifted with so much time...

“If I ever come back, we will not see one another.” Her
brown eyes moved between the pair. Older, she thought to
herself. They both looked older. “I can't return to the pack
after this," she whispered so softly that Burn and Mouser
leaned in to hear.

A quick glance passed between the brothers and each

quietly recognized the truth, if not reaching full realization.

“Good thing you came back at all,” Burn said. “This

night is-"
Burn's ear jerked. He stood and a deep growl turned
over in his throat.

In the distance, a hulking shadow sped through the

hills and across the grass, sliding down the cliffside like
rainwater towards the Coyotes. Rocks didn't tumble and
no dust stirred as the shadow flew across the ground.

The Coyotes bolted upright and spread around

Mother, legs splayed, backs high, and teeth ready to bite.
The immense shadow fell upon the Coyotes like night
around stars. The heavy, bloodied scent of Wolf filled the
air.

Golden eyes sat inside breathing darkness,

shimmering and unblinking. Wolf stared at the Coyotes
and through them. White fangs slowly emerged beneath
the pricks of starlight eyes as his mouth opened.

“I smell Deer.” He spoke soft as the sand and drier

than the air he breathed, yet his voice carried clear as the
sight of mountains standing on earth. "I smell Hare,
carried along by his withered pride."

29
 The shadow drifted across the dirt, but Wander never
quite saw his paws touch the ground. "Rattlesnake’s spirit
lingers," Wolf said, eyeing something the Coyotes couldn't.
"Burning, angry, but fading. I smell Coyote Mother gone
cold, and see her children here, held together by precious
few scraps of loyalty. But I smell something strange -
Walker and Coyote, separate, yet one and the same."

He moved closer as he spoke, his shape overwhelming

the brothers and sister. The Coyotes held ground even as
fear coiled every muscle in their bodies in case they
needed to run or die fighting.
Wander held her breath, for the air turned rank with
black dread. She was afraid to believe her own eyes.

Wolf.

Rarely seen but recalled easily as as nightmares and

legends. Many things dwelled in the desert. Deer,
Rattlesnake, Hawk, Lizard, Rat, Coyote, countless others.
But only one creature could claim to rule.
Only Wolf stood eternal.

When Wander was a pup who scarcely earned her

Call, Mother only whispered of Wolf in the safety of the
den, as if the mention of his name may bring his teeth upon
them.

She remembered the words Mother spoke.

We share his shape, but little else.

Do not fight him, for he is stronger.
Do not flee from him, for he is faster.
Do not anger him, for his rage shakes the earth

30
 He is Wolf.

But you are Coyote.

And if you remain clever,

you may survive.

31
 Wander knew Wolf was the only one of his kind to
hunt the land. The creatures of the desert, those old
enough to remember the stories told by old ones in their
time, said two once ravaged the hills. Wolf and his mate,
who ran side by side for many winters and summers.

Until one day a Walker moved through the desert and

came across the pair. The Walker split the air with
thunder, striking down Wolf's mate. Wolf's rage and
sadness shattered the sky that night. Ever since, he moved
as a lone shadow, utterly without equal.

And now Wolf's shadow towered over Wander and

her brothers.

Burn jumped in front of his pack and barked. “Be

gone Wolf. This one is not for you to take.”

Wolf’s eyes glimmered in the dark. “This desert is

mine, and I’ll take what I want. But I do not want the flesh
of Coyote Mother, touched as it is by Rattlesnake. Let
Vulture have her.”
Golden eyes leered over the Coyotes and down on
Mother. “I knew this one. Many times she crossed my
path, and in my hunger I would have feasted upon her, but
her craft proved able and perhaps I was not so hungry.”

Hot breath flared his snout and the flesh around his
ivory teeth quivered. The sound almost passed as laughter.
“She stood guard against my bite, and never granted me
the chance to free the blood in her throat, and now that
shall never pass.”

Smoldering eyes and star white fangs floated above

the Coyotes.

32
 "This place is lesser without her viciousness pushing
it onwards." he said, voice dry enough to catch fire. "A
fitting creature."

"She reared fitting children,” Burn said, squaring his

shoulders. “Take your leave, Wolf.”

"Know your place, Coyote, or she'll have only reared a

dead son," Wolf snorted, his gaze sliding over Mouser, and
settling upon Wander.

“You,” he said. “Coyote Daughter. The Skin-Taker."

She snarled.
“You lot are fortunate tonight -intrigue wins over my
hunger. Falcon’s gossip carries on the wind. He says a
Walker strayed into the desert, took shelter and fled as
Coyote.”

“I do not flee," she said.

“You left," Wolf said. "Now you return. But you are
one indebted. You shall leave this place once again, yes?"
“I have promises to keep,” Wander said.

“Promises?” And this time Wolf laughed. His massive

head reared skywards and thunder clapped from his jaws,
shaking the thick fur ringing his neck. “What does Coyote
making play at being Walker know of promises?”

His voice returned to a wisp, “Coyote Daughter walks

across my stones and sands once more. I’m impressed the
Skin took you back instead of strangling you there in the
dirt. Coyote stubbornness is not to be ignored."
Wolf's eyes flashed. “But you are more than Coyote,

33
yes? Or perhaps less. The Walker in you goes deeper than
scent or flesh."

Wander remained silent and struggled not to avert her

eyes.

Burn growled once more. “Wolf...”

Wolf's shimmering gaze turned away from the

siblings, turning him into a mass of pure darkness. “I
wanted to lay eyes upon her,” he said. “She is as they say.”

His long snout studied the sky. “The moon nears the
end of her passage. Coyote Children shall be left alone for
the remainder night. No more shall intrude upon you."

The shadow drifted backward, but his eyes remained

locked on the siblings. "Coyote Mother is gone, and she
takes much with her. Expectation falls upon your backs,
Coyote Children. Do not falter, do not break, do not let up.
And do not forget," the slightest flash of red flesh moved
behind his teeth, "that I am watching."

Wolf's eyes closed. Towering legs flew him to the top

of the ravine and the shadow vanished into night.

The beast’s scent withdrew, but the siblings kept their

eyes open and ears at attention. They moved little for the
rest of the night, and the few words between them passed
in whisper. As Wolf said, nothing disturbed them.

34
 4
Dawn broke, spilling orange light over the mountains
rimming the world and seeped into the bottom of the
ravine.

Mother looked much the same under the sun as she

did under the moon. Dead. Mouser shook and stretched in
the morning light.
Wander studied Burn’s tired eyes. His breathing came
shallow and uneven. His coat remained full, but the
leanness around his ribs worried her. Burn never looked
so thin before, or had so much time passed that the
memory of her brother surpassed the real thing?

“I’m sorry,” she said, stirring Burn from his fatigued

reverie.
“Eh?”

“For leaving. As I did.”

“That was a long time ago.” he said quickly. "You can't

change that and neither can I. What I said earlier-" he
blinked. "These past days have been difficult, I-"

“You said the truth. I'll admit to it," Wander spoke. "I
should've acted smarter.” She stared at Mother. “I
wanted...” Her voice drifted until she forced the rest out. “I
thought it was easier.”

35
 “For us or for yourself?”

“I was afraid." The words stung her tongue, but she

forced the rest out. "If I spoke to Mother before I left, she
may have persuaded me to stay. Perhaps I almost wanted
to be convinced.”

“No one stood a chance at changing your mind if the

smallest piece of it was made up."

Mouser sat up. “Mother was furious that day, and for
many days after.”

"She wouldn't be Mother if she wasn't furious."

“I couldn't eat for days.” Mouser said.

Wander rubbed his ear with her snout. "I made my

mistakes. I'm sorry. To both of you."

Burn sighed. “If we're bringing this up again..." His

forepaw scratched the dirt. "For a long time, I would've
clawed your eyes out had you returned, but not until after I
had a go at that Walker of yours." His grin stretched under
his eyes. "Guess I'm past that, now."

Mouser butted his head against Wander's shoulder.

"You are here. I am glad, that's all."

Burn studied Wander as the sun lit the ridge of fur

along his back. “Tell me, do you ever regret it?”

Wander gave herself a moment to think. “It's not easy.

Some days are hard. Harder than I ever thought it would
be. Walkers are...strange. Beautiful in some ways,
frightening in others. But I’ve made my choice,” Wander
said. "And it's a choice I make again every day.”

36
 Burn decided that was all he needed to hear. “Let's
hope we keep choosing right, then," he said, walking away
from Mother and past Wander.

He stared into the brightening sky. “There is nothing

left to it. She is dead. Let Vulture take her.”

Wander studied her body. Mother in shape, but no

longer in spirit. Distantly, she thought to say a few words,
but what could that change? Dead was dead, and meat was
meat, but this was not for eating.

But Mother was Mother. Wander stood anchored to

the ground.
"When a Walker dies...they have..." Her eyes fluttered,
trying to bridge a gap between one life and another.

"We are not Walker," Burn said, not angry, only stating
simple truth.

Wander thought of Walker bodies placed within wood

and lowered into the dirt. The Walker pack gathered
around the dead one, clothed in night, voices cracking,
chanting, or saying nothing at all. Strange rituals that did
not entirely belong to her, even when standing on two legs.

Mother lay on the ground and Vulture would take her.

Such was the way of the dead in her old world, with
nothing more to it. Wander struggled against herself. It
wasn't enough.

The Coyote shook. Pale lips trembled behind the snout

and she longed to reach out with fingers to touch her
mother. Her mother, who she desperately wanted to tell
she's sorry, to tell her goodbye, to tell her about her
grandchildren and-

37
 Neither the Coyote or Walker inside won, but
something between the two cracked. It started from her
heart and rose through her throat, driving her to take a
long breath. Her body tensed as her head pointed to the
rising sun. She shut her eyes and opened her mouth.

Her call started low, echoing across the rock and

yellowed grass, rising higher and higher, reaching past the
clouds before falling to the earth again, and leaping
skywards once more. For the first time in years, Wander
howled.

Her cry rang in her ears, bright and smooth, filling

herself as she tried to empty everything built up for years
on end.

Mouser's head rose and his whistling, bouncy call

joined her own. Burn’s howl followed. His smokey call
curled in the air, gentle to rise and fall.

The canyon stirred their song against the jagged rock

wall, each voice raising the other, lifting it higher and
higher before flying into the wide open air. The desert
woke to the singing of Coyote Children, whole once more,
and only once more.

The song needed no words. The desert knew what it

meant, and who it was for.

38
 5
Wander walked alone back to her cache. Burn and
Mouser offered to accompany her, but she declined. The
Coyote came alone and insisted on leaving alone.

Her tongue swung from her panting jaw. Her fur

warmed as the sun shined the cloudless sky. She felt bitter
relief when nearing the outcropping of rock. The part
Wander dreaded most was over, but she did not look
forward to her next task.

Wander stepped over the brush, catching sticker burrs

in her fur, and-

The grass moved and world blurred. The coyote dived

into the grass. Her jaws clamped shut on something hot,
and then very wet. The thing in her mouth squealed before
she squeezed her teeth down and silenced it.
The Coyote's jaws and neck worked to tear the
squirrel into pieces she could swallow- bones, fur, and all,
until nothing was left but to lick her chops.

The meal came by easier than most and settled well into
the stomach, if not entirely filling her. The Coyote enjoyed
it. She considered nosing through the brush a while longer.
She scanned the rocks, the grass for telltale signs of lizards
or rodents. Morning hunts always suited her best.

Screams echoed inside the Coyote and yanked Wander

to the here and now. She shivered.

39
 Too many things knew Wander's name to let her
simply live as Coyote again. She remembered debts to be
repaid. The bargains she made, and the promises to keep,
to those in flesh and those who waited beyond it. She
pushed the memory of her pack, her family to the front of
her mind.

"Marisol," she breathed. "Matteo," she said between

gritted teeth and each paw placed in front of the other until
she reached the rock's shade. "Only a few days," she told
herself in hushed, urgent tones. "You told them. You said
you'd be back."
Once inside, she took breathed deep and caught a
scent strong enough to spin her around, fangs wholly bared
and every inch of fur standing at knife point.

Wolf's eyes floated in the entrance. Even in the light

of day, he stood as pure shadow.

Idiot, idiot, stupid idiot, she thought. She let her

guard down and now Wolf would have her throat for sure.
And to think, she almost made it out alive.
She snarled. "If it's blood you're after-"

"Your blood would drip from my tongue already," Wolf

said, "if that's what I wanted. What I have is a question.
That doesn't happen often."

"Then go off and enjoy the sensation," she growled. "I'm

not here to scratch your curiosity. Either make this a hunt
or run off."

Wolf did not move. He didn't blink.

40
 "When you dream," he said, "what is the shape you
take?"
"What?"

The shadow continued. "You abandoned this world,

and even now the desert calls you back. And yet, you've
made vows that tether you to the Walker's realm. Blood.
Pack. Pacts. So many things pull at you, Coyote
Daughter...but you are not entirely Coyote, despite what the
Skin wants."

His narrow eyes turned into wide circles. "Everyone

calls you something. Coyote, Walker, Daughter, Sister, Mate,
Mother. But when you stand alone in your mind, what do
you call yourself?"

41
 Wander's fur tightened around her in a way that stung
more than fear or blood rush.

She leered into the giant shadow standing at the

opening "I am..." She steadied her voice. "I cannot deny
what I am. I came from Coyote. I live as Walker, I stand
alongside Walker. I have carried Walker, and brought them
into the world. But I am not, and never will be wholly
Walker. Look at me now."

She closed her mouth, thinking. "I accepted that

before I took the Skin. When I close my eyes at night, I see
this place. Mountains. Canyons that run forever. I hear
howls and yelps, and feel burning wind across the fur I left
behind."

Wander swallowed. "But then I wake up and know

I'm not wholly Coyote, either." Truthfully, Her memories
as Coyote never abandoned her, but her life spent as
Walker left them faded, hazy as hills baking under the sun
from far away. "In my waking time, I can remember
running on four legs if I focus, but..." she fell quiet.
"You dread a night were you don't dream of Coyote at
all."

"I dread the day where I forget to think like Coyote. In

this moment, I dread forgetting to think like Walker.
You're right, Wolf. I'm not Coyote anymore. I'm not
Walker, either, even though I begged and prayed,
bargained, cheated, and lie every day to come as close to
being Walker as I ever will."

"Coyote Daughter, tell me, is it worth it?"

Her voice came close to breaking. "Why do you care?"

42
 "Because a promise needs more than one to make"

Wander looked at him with uncertainty. "What do you

mean? Do you intend to take the Skin?"

Wolf's noise sounded something like a laugh, but

came out a tired, thin breath. "No. I am too old for such a
thing, and my legs are deeply rooted to this earth. I cannot
leave it behind. But I know of the Skin, what it takes, and
what it leaves behind, same as your brothers."

She looked deep into the golden eyes standing alone

in darkness, and saw them recall a time when they weren't
so alone.
"Do you mean...Your-"

"A different time," the words came out as hard granite.

"I've never made any bargains," he said, "but any promises
I made no longer matter. I only ask, is it worth it?"

Wander stood in her own darkness. Wolf's breath

filled the recess, setting her nerves ablaze. Her throat
tightened.
"I'll tell you the same thing I told my brother. I've
made my choice, and every day, every single day, I have to
choose it again. If you weren't in my way, I would be
heading back already, on two legs."

"I am," she hissed, "everything I've ever been called.

Coyote, Walker, Skin-Taker, Traitor, all of it. Wolf, I'm so
many things that I don't know what to call myself when I'm
alone. But right now, none of that matters to me."

"I have made my promises," her hard voice ground out

every word. "And if I don't keep them, then I'm nothing."

43
 She put all her focus on breathing, hoping to stop
herself from shaking. "That's all I can say to you, to
anyone."

Golden eyes closed. Shadow stood at the entrance,

and then shadow stood no longer.

Wander's breath rushed from her chest. Blood

pounded in her ears. The scent of Wolf vanished as if he
was never there.

It took a long time to collect herself. She couldn't

remember a single night lasting so long.
But one task still remained. Every inch of her skin
screamed. It tightened around her, begged and pleaded in
the desperate, shameless voice of someone begging to
themselves.

It took everything in her not to listen.

In the darkness, a Coyote's howls and and cries

twisted into the screams and gasps of Walker. Memories
rushed back. Memories faded away. Words suited for lips
replaced those utterable only between snout and fang. The
Coyote fell into her half-dream state once more as the
Walker opened her eyes.

Her body glistened with sweat as she crawled away on

hands and knees from the hot Coyote pelt before it could
gather enough strength to pull her inside and never let go.

The woman heaved, failing to spit up the squirrel she

ate moments before. The Coyote within huffed at the
Walker's weak appetite. She dragged herself to the
rucksack and pulled out a canteen, scrambling to unscrew
the cap and spilled hot water into her mouth.

44
 She laid against rock until the world stop spinning and
she didn't want to throw up her insides. Her bones ached
and muscles stung, but she'd live.

Breath by breath, her chest almost steadied before

racking her body. Palms pressed against her cheeks and
wiped away tears mixing with sweat. Realization set in for
her Walker self.

Her mother was dead and she'd never see or speak

with her again.

She grieved as a coyote, and now grieved as a human.

She cried as someone only does when alone.
Mouser said Mother was furious when she left, and
rightfully so. Mother was the type to stay angry for a long
time. She had no way to know what her mother thought as
Rattlesnake's poison burned her veins. Did she think of
her children, the pups she died for? Did she consider her
death worthwhile, or think of every regret in her life the
moment Rattlesnake dug his fangs into her fur? Towards
the end, did she have the awareness to spare a thought for
her foolish daughter who fled the desert in the middle of
the night a long, long time ago?

Already, the scent of her brothers faded in her nose,

almost driving her to tears again. She wiped her face dry,
and wondered if she was being selfish. Everything was her
choice, in the end, but that didn't make things easy.

All she could do was focus on what needed to be done.

Quietly, and with caution, she wrapped her pelt in the

white canvas again. She almost heard howling as she
packed it away, and swore it shook when she wrapped it
once again in wires and knots.

45
 But the Skin belonged to her, always and forever. The
time would come when she would wear it and run across
the desert once more with her children, but not for many
years. By then the desert would change. The mountains
will still stand, the sun still burn, and Hare will hide in the
brush, while Coyote seeks him out. But they would not be
her Coyote, perhaps kin of her pack, but Burn and Mouser
would be long in the sky by then. Maybe Wolf would find
himself in a place where he no longer need to run alone.
Maybe Mother would look down with a bit of favor.

She put her clothes back on and secured the Skin in

the sack. She stood and left the crevice, blinking in the
sunlight.
One day she'd return to her birthplace, but not for a
long time. Meanwhile, a home of her own making waited.

She walked with her face towards the sun and left the
desert behind her, grateful that this time, at least, she said
farewell.

46
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 Thank you for reading!

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