“I feel like I gave birth to one,” groaned Coyote.
Badger just blinked.
Coyote stared at his reflection. The creature in the water was old, tired, and wearing a fool’s expression. For once, he had nothing clever to say. Some say Coyote learned his lesson that day. They say he never touched fire water again. Coyote-s Tale. Fire Water
Not for rabbit. Not for roots.
That was the first lesson of fire water: it burns twice. Once going down. Once when you wake up. Coyote crawled to the river at dawn. His head felt like a drum someone had beaten all night. His eyes were red as embers. A crow landed nearby and laughed—a rusty, knowing sound. “I feel like I gave birth to one,” groaned Coyote
In the old days—before the rivers learned to bend, and when the stars still whispered secrets to the wind—Coyote was hungry. The creature in the water was old, tired,