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

Chilly though it was, the coywolf did not want to move. He was busy asking himself if he felt any different, not so much because it was important to figure out, but because it distracted him from more pressing thoughts. Like what's next? or what does this mean? He had no idea if this was going to turn into a regular thing or if it was just this once, and what distressed him most was that he didn't know which option was worse.

So he thought about the thunderbolt. The one that'd struck Slow West when he met his girl. The one that'd transformed him from gentle, loving brother into — well — something a little more like a coyote ought to be. Something a little more like Dusty Rose.

"Show me," he said at length, shaking himself out of his contemplation to half-rise on fawn-like legs. They folded beneath him when they tried to take his weight; Dusty Rose looked momentarily shocked by this development. He tried to play it off by shifting closer to Reverie again — and by the time he had done this, he'd convinced himself that he never meant to get up, anyway. " ... later," he amended, combing his teeth through the fur at Reverie's throat once more.

"We ought to enjoy all this rain you called down," he told her, though the storm was already abating, having reached its crescendo along with them.