Lake Rodney Life was so much better with you there

Shemesh drank with audible zeal, the cold water soothing her sore throat. Her voice was hoarse from howling, and a proper recovery demanded quiet — and warm honey water, but she didn’t have a dish to put it in. At least “quiet” was easy to come by; she hadn’t seen a canine larger than a fox in days! And Shemesh had eaten a fox before, so she knew they weren’t very good conversation partners.

The coydog stepped back and let the ripples still. Her fur stuck out in all directions, smudged with dirt and dried blood without anyone to scrub it off of her. Shemesh could try to wash herself, but for who? It had been morning dark when she fell asleep in the backseat of her master’s truck, and afternoon light when they reached their campsite. Shemesh didn’t know how far they’d driven, and her nose never touched the roads they took; she just knew trucks could travel further than dogs.

Noam wouldn’t care if she was covered head to toe in rotting skunk — again; her master would just be happy they’d found each other. He’d be happy she was home.

Shemesh huffed and turned away from the water’s edge. Her tall ears flicked to and fro, catching the splash of a fish here, the call of a songbird there. There was so much sound when her master wasn’t around; it was almost overwhelming.