art by crypsis
At Myrika’s mention of abandonment, the white coyote’s ears swiveled high. He hadn’t known much about the woman, but hardly guessed she might have felt rejection as he had known it. Most of his scars from those days had healed. Only the one along his side and deeper one along his head, were signs he had ever engaged in combat. There were older, hidden wounds he could not heal.
Gradually, his face formed into a thin, uncertain smile. There had been the thought of chasing after him, but like Myrika, he had expected the rejection. He couldn’t track Ezekiel if he had tried. Even with two horses and a jackal his mentor had been an expert tracker, and well-able to disappear if he so wished. Max even managed a faint wag of the tail, though his posture was still hunched and unhappy. “He taught me to fight,” Max explained, not sure how to make sense of it. “And a little bit about reading, and demons and stuff. He said my stories reminded him of some of the ones he knew.”
There was a pause. Max, unsure of how to proceed, lifted one paw and placed it against Myrika’s leg. “Did people think you were a monster too?” He asked, suddenly a child again, without any sort of pretense. He believed, certainly, he was one.
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