Lowry is by Nat!
Lime green eyes regarded him from under her dark hair, and Lowry frowned as he considered her question. He could sketch great landscapes and world wonders with his words, but they weren’t as important as the things she mentioned, the things they’d had for such a brief moment of their brief lives. “Nothing else really does matter, Ellie,” the boy admitted, but smiled at her. “But until I can find someplace like that, I at least want to have an adventure. I’m sure it’s out there somewhere, though.” He crossed his arms and glanced over his shoulder at where field and mixed forest met with a fringe of stunted trees—as if he could see beyond that to a new home, someplace where coyotes could live and not fight over politics. “I’m positive,” he added with another quirk of his mouth. Being a good storyteller sometimes meant you were a good liar, too.
Fingers ruffled his fluff of hair, and the young hybrid growled as he stepped back and tried to fix it, a lost cause. He didn’t quite throw her a playfully grouchy look, instead listening with surprise and delight as she mentioned a story and the knife at his hip. He grinned, drawing the blade and flipping it before catching it again—all for show, of course, but something that he had practiced a million times, as might be seen by the extremely faded scars on his paw pads.
“I like to think I’m good,” Lowry bragged, and then let some of the arrogance melt away as he grinned sheepishly. “At least—this was all I could really do. I’m not a big hulking monstrosity packed with muscle, so I’ve gotta find some other way to defend myself and stuff.” He reached up and rubbed a scar on his jaw, not quite realizing he was doing it, before unexpectedly plopping his butt down in the grass again.
“If you want a story, sis,” he yapped, “you’ve gotta sit down. At least, I don’t want to tell the whole thing standing up.” He rested his hand on his crossed legs and beamed. “What kind of story do you want?”
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