Sleepy Fox Hollow honey in the rock and the sugar don't stop

Another call for Etienne. Jesus — how many relatives did this guy have?

Anselm set down his kill, caching it behind a rotted oak near the rendezvous. 

He tracked down the author of the call eventually. This one didn’t look like a relative. In fact, it looked like one of the sundry coyotes Anselm had hunted all the way to the Naaghai Lowlands. His fur bristled, his eyes resting on the small gift at the coywolf’s feet. 

It was only the fact the call on the wind had Etienne’s name in it that stayed Anselm’s impulse to attack. He despised coyotes almost as much as he despised trespassers. If only because the two were often one and the same. 

For the third time now this week, he asked. Vhat do you vant?