Rising Sun Valley [m] We'll wish for weightless knees

The coywolf had never seen fire before; he had only heard it described. Right then, the dancing queen readily fit that description, overwriting less vivid attempts of his imagination to conjure flame. And, while Reverie danced to call down the rains, Dusty Rose had mainly learned to dance in it, with high jumps and snapping teeth, reveling in something vital and life-giving after months-long drought.

This narrative was woven into Reverie's with jagged grace. The coywolf kept up with a stream of wordless, guttural narration, black nostrils flaring when his lungs began to ache.

Eventually, the feather fluttered to the ground, and Dusty Rose pursued her in earnest — delighted, incensed, and terribly flattered.

A pointed snap clipped the pale fur of her flank, but she slipped like a raindrop between his teeth. Another deep growl escaped him, and he surged forward again with his tail lashing, flinging droplets of water in every direction as it spun.