3/27/2026, 3:47 AM
He doesn't know why he travels. It's an instinctive thing, he figures. A distant calling to recompense for all the years he spent circling cages or pits or hidden-away yards. It doesn't matter really. Coyote's moving and he can only think of the ground beneath his paws.
This terrain is familiar to him in ways. It's flat and empty and the distant sound of water rippling almost soothes him.
Almost.
Coyote crests the little incline that leads a snaking path to a somewhat-inlet. He sniffs. She is, like many, small and, like many, in his way forward. The distance between them is not significant. He's sure she's smelled him by now. This makes him sure she'll hear his low woof. Not a threat.
Not a warning.
He just wants to make her scurry.
He just wants to be alone.
This terrain is familiar to him in ways. It's flat and empty and the distant sound of water rippling almost soothes him.
Almost.
Coyote crests the little incline that leads a snaking path to a somewhat-inlet. He sniffs. She is, like many, small and, like many, in his way forward. The distance between them is not significant. He's sure she's smelled him by now. This makes him sure she'll hear his low woof. Not a threat.
Not a warning.
He just wants to make her scurry.
He just wants to be alone.