Sleepy Fox Hollow spaziergang

nine of them. one father. one flower-eater. dusty spoke with the nonchalance of someone who had been born to this life, but it was far beyond anything mahler had ever experienced. yet he was interested, happy to be silent until the younger man had finished speaking.
dusty rose again mentioned the dichotomy of coyotes. the words that mentioned the insects could be used for them. a slur, then. 
was it guilt or shame that rose in him now, to know he had slain one only before dusty arrived.
but it was their way. still mahler wondered if it had been full-blooded wolves who subjected a coyote to such a name. the boy was still talking. he smiled at the mention of dance, which he meant to see.
"it sounds as though you grew up vith many dreams and many people around you. and it sounds as if life has been hard for you given your nature."
he too sniffed the earth. "dachs," the gargoyle gave in his own translation. "i grew up in a small valley and it vas all i knew for a time." and then marigold.