—
Strel listened to the story, keeping his legs close as he watched the sea shift and change. Coyote, huh? Why did it have to be coyote? Coyotes all had these stories, coming from some tribe or another. Where did they come from? He too, had his own stories, but his pack had been wolves and wolf dominated hybrids. This story was not new to him, but he had always heard it about wolves, or had he? It had been almost four years since he had heard the stories of his childhood. Maybe they were wrong? Maybe he forgot the real ones, all that alcohol making his memory disappear.
"Coyotes always make their stories about coyotes. And wolves do the same. There is coyote blood in me, but I only know the wolf tales. But my pack was mostly wolfish." Strel dug his fingers into his pants, remembering his family. Did they miss him? Did they want to come see him? Did they want him to come home again? "It's a story, Terra. The sea can still kill you. I once went out in a canoe onto it, in the fall mind, and we were stupid and forgot our oars. If we weren't so close to shore, I know we would have either been drifted out to sea or forced to swim and drown when we got tired."
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