Jade Fern Grove We'll make a way

The boy snorted when she spoke of hunting for herself, having a hard time believing her. He was raised to believe that coyotes were nothing more than thieves and filthy scavengers. That they would feast upon the carrion of anything without hesitation. To hear one claim that they didn’t do as he was raised to think was most unusual, as well as unimaginable. “Sure you do,” he sneered, unconvinced. He opened his mouth to make another remark but shut it as soon as she’d asked a question. It was a simple curiosity to answer, but he’d needed to take a moment in order to decide whether or not it was okay to tell her. He soon realized that there didn’t exist a single reason for not telling her that was justifiable.

“Tortuga,” was the answer given. “Coyotes aren’t allowed to join.” Well, he had assumed so, anyways. It didn’t make sense to him that a lesser canine would be allowed to hang around with a pack. He'd kept his eye on her, watching and waiting for a mistake to be made before his patience had finally run out. With little warning, he'd run at the stranger and chased her off. Only after he'd felt as if she'd gone far enough away had he turned around and returned home, where his patrol was continued—if the coyote would have come back, he'd have been ready.