Otter Creek not a long time ago,

Moon Runner ran, unbridled, across the great plains.

Her spirit crowed with exhilration. Its young vessel strong and free.

She slept beneath the stars and hunted the dawn, birdcatching. Birdwatching. Birdsinging.

A commotion caught her attention. Yodels, yips, and barks echoed in the empty sky.

Moon Runner’s pale face popped up from the long grass and spied a strong spirit. Its thunderous hooves danced with tooth and fang. Clouds of steam rolled from its open nostrils. Its tail and mane lashed at the wind.

Moon Runner bounded through the grass, amber eyes fixed on the mare's dappled fur. Perhaps, if their spirits ran together, there would be a meal of coyote for this one.