Hoshor Plains [birth] these gifts i bring

King or slave, all creatures come into the world the same way (birth) and eventually share the same fate (death). But in between the bookends of a life, the story is always a collaborative effort between two co-authors: the individual in question and, of course, luck.

She didn't know it yet but the tiny newborn was all at once very lucky and very unlucky. She was lucky to be a coyote and not a wolf. She was also unlucky for this same reason; it meant she would be exchanged, a gift, like a piece of property rather than a living, breathing individual. But at least she would be alive.

After her mother cleaned and dried her, the pup who would be called Regipre thrust one forelimb into the air and flailed it, as if waving to an unseen audience. She then rolled onto her side with a loud squall, which prompted Tomahawk to guide her toward her belly. The tiny coyote rooted around for a teat, found one and latched.

She whimpered and squirmed as she fed, pushing and batting at the five other little bodies surrounding her. Instinctively, she resented them. Luckily for her (and unluckily for them), at least half would be gone by the next turn of the sun, swept off to their unfortunate fate and leaving just herself and two others to write the rest of the story.