Emberwood [m] But if you get me out, you get a show

A swivel of his ears betrayed his interest. He wondered what she'd been called before her name was Reverie, but this, at least, he did not feel the right to ask. For the same reason he did not speak the names of the three young children — names were an intensely personal thing. The kids had not consented to being Named, and indeed, were not yet capable of true consent.

A coyote dug a den for his cubs, and then he hid them away, just as he hid away every other precious thing. And Dusty Rose had been taught from birth that he was precious, and that previous things needed to be hidden to be kept safe. So he had kept himself secret — and he, Dusty Rose, had been the very first person to know himself. The first person to speak his name. The only one who had ever been in possession of him.

As much as he wanted to possess Reverie, he knew it was not his right.

"Mostly," he replied, still watching her face. Another distant lightning strike lit her all in white. "Coyotes or half-coyotes, or prairie wolves, y'know? Smaller. Different fur."

Her tone was not missed. He was not sure what had caused it.

"Dad was half, maybe. Or maybe he was a prairie wolf," he told her, waiting to see if these words touched on any of her nerves. "But the one that was my blood — he was full coyote. And it was my momma who was a prairie wolf or a half-coyote or somethin'. I didn't know her, but I hear she was a looker. Legs for days — that's what everybody says. But a god-awful voice. All pitch and no rhythm, y'know?"

Dusty Rose was relieved not to have inherited such problems.