Bingo. In the corner by a few ripped up saddles four rectangular brown boxes were laying. Bending wasn't easy for the old wolf, as the muscles in his legs moaned as he did so, but Amos managed it. The boxes were caked in dirt, so thick that he couldn't read what was printed on them. Licking his thumb, the old coyote rubbed off the dirt. Now, Amos couldn't read, but he knew what the shape of the word 'Marlboro' thanks to how often he found them.
When he got back, he would clean them off. In the mean time, the old coyote slid them into his bag, and turned around to look for more cigarettes in the barn. Usually, cigarette packs were spread out.
But instead of finding more packs, Amos found a bear. No, really. A bear. The coyote stopped in his tracks, and stared with round eyes at the yellow behemoth. The coyote wasn't sure whether to run, or to extend a greeting- some large predators were extremely unsocialized, while others proved to amiable.
"Howdy, ma'am." Amos spoke, his violet eyes cautiously watching to see how the bear reacted.
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