The Dragon and the Coyote
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murf sleepily lifts his head from under the warm tail of his
pack mate, wondering what has woken him. He delicately
sniffs the night air, his tongue lolling out to taste the soft
wind flowing from Coyote Mountain.
He rises to his feet, stepping over the still sleeping pack,
and stretching his hind legs behind him, begins to awaken.
Walking to the rise over the small depression that the pack
sleeps in, he stands with his head cocked. Ears turning this
way and that, he catches the faint sound of tinkling water.
Curious, because he knows of no running water within
hearing distance of the den, Murf slowly trots towards the
sound.
"Papa Coyote's snout is almost touching the Lady tonight."
Murf thinks to himself, as he observes the pinnacle of
Coyote Mountain beneath a large, glowing moon. His eyes
narrow as a shadow passes between the peak of the mountain
and the moon. The sound of tinkling water grows louder, and
begins to undulate as if running over stones in a stream.
The hairs along Murf's back begin to rise, and he slows down,
crouching low to the ground. Stopping, his bright eyes search
the gray mountainside, looking for movement of any kind.
The sound that has awoken him slowly fades away, leaving a
chiming vibration upon the air that surrounds him.
Murf sits for several minutes, all of his senses engaged in
ferreting out the source of the strangeness all around him.
After some time passes, and the wind brings no news of any
thing untoward, Murf relaxes somewhat. "Ah, you silly
coyote," he thinks to himself, "it's nothing."
Slowly rising, Murf once more looks upon the peak of Coyote
Mountain, and notices that the moon has been speared by
Papa Coyote's snout. His mouth pulled in a coyote grin, he
rises and begins to sing praises to Papa Coyote, the greatest
Hunter of them all, and his grin widens as he hears answering
songs from near and far...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chearh quietly listens to the yipping of the coyote below, and
the answering yips from some of the other packs scattered
around the valley below the mountain. To her sensitive dragon
ears, the sounds that the coyotes are making are like intricate
music, although none that she or her kin had ever thought to
reproduce. Her snout wrinkles in a smile, teeth gleaming in
the bright moonlight. "I wonder if they know their music is
soothing to a savage beast?" she ponders to herself, her smile
widening.
Chearh had sung her own song earlier. It was one of her own
composition, in the tradition of River, and she was quite happy
that it had turned out as she had hoped. "If that coyote was
any indication of my audience's reaction, I think I may just
have my Master Composition here." she mused happily.
As the coyotes continued to sing their songs below, Chearh
absentmindedly began to join them. At first, her attempts were
rough, and came out as growling screeches, but slowly her
trained throat muscles adjusted to what she was attempting.
Soon, her own composition of the Coyote Song rippled within
the songs of the coyotes below, twining and dashing between
them like a coyote chasing a rabbit amongst the rocks of the
mountain itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murf listens as the mountain grumbles, his ears perked
forward. His song was stopped by the sudden intervention
of the unusual sounds emanating from the mountain top, but
he soon resumes his answering refrains to his brethren in
the valley. Slowly, he notices a perceptible change in the
song's course, and following it, he rises on all fours. The
hairs on his back begin to rise again, as he notices a dim
glowing shape dancing over the rocks on the mountainside.
Abruptly, his song is stopped again as he realizes he is
watching a ghost coyote chasing a rabbit. With a small
whimper of fear, he begins to crawl on his belly up the
mountainside. If there is danger to his pack, he must know
of it, so that he can warn them. Small warning yips escape
his throat as he stumbles over a branch lying in his path.
Reaching back to snip at the branch, Murf stops stock
still...not moving a single hair on his small coyote body.
The branch is moving! Coiling around on itself! His small
body racked with shivers, every hair on his entire body
standing on end, his eyes follow the branch up - up -
up...and his lips pull back in a gross parody of his coyote
grin as he comes snout to snout with a dragon, softly
snuffling at him. The warm dragon's breath blows the hairs
of his snout softly, and Murf sits abruptly, his tail puffed
out in terror.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chearh had never been so close to one of the tiny coyotes
before. Her twirling eyes sparkle in the moonlight, as her
tongue reaches out to feel the soft hairs on the coyote's
snout. "Why, he tastes of the wind, and dust, and a touch
of laughter," she thinks to herself, "how delightful!" Noticing
the coyote's extreme discomfort, she moves her head back
from such close proximity. "How do you do, little coyote?"
she asks of the trembling form in front of her.
Murf lolls back on his haunches even further, trying to roll
himself into the tiniest ball ever. What was the creature
growling at him? How had he not caught it's scent while
trailing the ghost coyote? More questions than he had ever
felt before were washing over him in a jumble. When the
dragon's tongue had bolted out of that huge mouth, he had
thought he was a goner for sure. Yet, the dragon had only
caressed his snout...why was he not eaten, he ponders.
And those growling sounds emanating from it's throat...he
shivers again, his mind racing, trying to find a way that he
can escape without being eaten.
Chearh watches the coyote, listening to the racing thoughts
chasing tails in his mind. "Oh, dear. I do believe the poor
thing doesn't understand a word of Language" she ponders,
"I wonder if I can learn his speech before the precious thing
bolts and I never encounter another again?" Determining
that she will somehow communicate with the tiny coyote,
Chearh reaches into his thoughts, seaching for the Words.
Her first attempts are clumsy, as was her song attempted
earlier, but gradually she masters the yips and growls that
are the coyote's speech. "I apologize for startling you, little
coyote," her speech begins, "but your song was so lovely,
I couldn't resist joining in."
Murf can't believe his ears. The creature is actually
speaking to him! And, in Papa Coyote's own tongue! Although
his body still trembles from the closeness of such a large
creature, Murf feels the tenseness begin to loosen around
his vocal cords. Although his response begins with a
whimper, he manages to blurt out, "Are you the Lady come
down to tear out Papa Coyote's throat for taking a bite out of
you?"
Chearh's wings rise in full flight mode, she is so startled at
the little coyote's question. Narrowing her eyes, she
searches for the meaning in the small creature's mind.
She smiles, showing sparkling white teeth when she catches
the reference between the peak of the mountain and the
glowing moon. Rumbling her laughter, she answers his
question. "No, little brother, I am not the Lady, although I
know her well."
The conversation which takes place between the Dragon and
the Coyote goes on into the night. An observer would notice
that the coyote actually manages to relax enough to lie at the
dragon's great, clawed feet, muzzle turned up to the snout
towering over him. As the mountain slowly swallows the
moon, and tinges of pink herald the coming of dawn, the
dragon's head slowly drops closer to the coyote, and the
two creatures seem to touch muzzles in a parting greeting
of some sort.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murf lopes back to his pack, tired from his sleepless night,
but his coyote grin splits his face as wide as the Lady's
smile. He wonders what his pack mates will say about the
dragon when he tells them. His feet falter as the full
realization of just what his pack's reaction to his
adventures will probably be starts to glimmer. As he
reaches the rise over the small depression that contains
his slowly waking pack, he sits and ponders, small
whimpers escaping his throat from time to time. His mate,
hearing the whimpers coming from the ridge above her,
woofs sleepily at him. As she rises, stretching her lithe
body, he slowly grins down at her. He now knows how
he will tell them of the dragon. He will tell them in a song to
Papa Coyote...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chearh's song soars over the assemblage, slowly growing
in volume. At first, the ancient dragons look at one another,
questions swirling in their eyes. Then as the song
progresses, their eyes are drawn to the small figure of the
coyote waking from the small depression below. Trilling
whispers of praise begin to twine as a background to the
musical presentation, as the mountain's snout pierces the
full moon overhead. Good natured laughter rumbles as a
counterpoint to the meeting between the Dragon and the
Coyote. As her song slowly fades upon the coyote loping
back to his pack, the crystal walls resound with the
appreciation of her audience, and Chearh knows that this
was meant to be her Master Composition...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And the story does not end there, for there are always
moments captured in time, and dragons are notorious
for starting musical traditions...just as coyotes are
notorious for singing new songs to Papa Coyote.
©2002 Quelonzia Stormdancer/Terry Dean
@ 1995-2006 All content and images Copyright their creators/owners. This website owned by
Edwin and Terry Dean. Website Design by Quelonzia Stormdancer.
