Sky Mesa I don’t need additional lives.

Anselm’s eyes were fixed ahead, but a voice called from behind. 

He turned around and for a moment misidentified the dark coyote as Meridian — but upon examination, other than their heritage, they had little in common. This one sported a monotone pelt, framed by a pair of glinting golden eyes. 

Anselm’s rifling hackles settled. They were in neutral territory — and while Meridian had experienced him at his worst, that had been in his own home. Outside of Paleo he had little reason for aggression. 

Still, coyotes were not a favored sight of his and he spared her only a glance before he kept walking. The summit wouldn’t walk itself, and he had romantic ideas about throwing his voice off the mesa’s peak. Vhat does it look like I am doing?