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Description
Animals most commonly associated with the trickster around the world.
Yaq Tricks Her MateYaq Tricks Her Mate: A Desert Ghoul Folk-tale as Recorded from Oral Form by T. P. Hade of the Nonhuman Cultural Illumination Project
In this lifetime Yaq was born female. She lived in the land where desert meets grass. It was a bountiful place, with good territories and mates to choose from, but Yaq did not appreciate them. For years she turned her nose up at many clever males until she found what she was searching for.
This young male was hunting at the edge of his parent’s territory. He was gathering supplies so that he could leave them and begin his Matehood Journey. His fangs were handsome and his body well muscled, but what caught Yaq’s eye was his naive expression.
She bounded up to him and rubbed her cheek against his. “It’s you!” she said. “I see you in my dreams, and now those dreams have been answered. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know we’ll be perfect together.”
The young male fell back on his haunches and st FleasTwo immortals meet in a bar, only one by choice. It’s a quiet niche, small, cozy. Wolf’s hunting ground with solitude as prey. His camouflage is a black suit, a white beard, and a distant look.
Coyote is a firecracker, all noise and color, blue jeans and an assaultive tie-dye shirt. A tag dangles from the sleeve. Eyes follow his bee-line to Wolf, read the invitation printed on fabric.
Ask If I’m Wearing Underpants!
He plops on a stool next to his cousin and gives him a warm pat on the back. In absence of tail, he lets his tongue do the wagging. “Well, if it isn’t the handsomest humanimal around! How you been pal?”
Wolf takes a slow sip of his beer. “I had been… alone with my thoughts.”
“A nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.” Coyote signals the bartender. “I’ll have one of everything.”
The human’s eyes are suspicious slivers. “Pay up front or get out.”
C Road TripTwo immortals scratching itchy feet on the sidewalk.
Coyote in the lead, too drunk to remember where they are. Mangy-minded Coyote, always dying but never staying down. A dozen cans of Bud assault a bladder the size of an apple. He stops to lift his leg against a street light for the third time in an hour. His costume jewelry tinkles, grimy tags swinging from a pink collar. Odie- no address given.
The piece of Wendigo called Prankster waits, leash in hand, patient as a trained puppy. That splinter-souled elemental is a festival of color. Banana-yellow rain jacket, red t-shirt, green shorts blooming with purple flowers. Their supplies are sling over his shoulder in an orange backpack. A triangle of white, three black dots, and four lines turns the front into the face of a fox. His eyes are made of bleached-blue ice. They follow moths which dart, hypnotized, around the light. The former mangeur de lard has broadened his palate.
Coyote horse-kicks him in the shin. “Leave the Coyote SkinCoyote was walking along and found Puma practicing with her bow and arrows. “Hiya!” he said. “I’m bored. Wanna take a bet on whose Medicine is better?”
Puma’s ears twitched. A laugh rasped from her throat and she gave him a pat on the shoulder which left a bruise. “Silly little Long-Nose, you have no Medicine,” she said. “We can bet on how fast the grass will grow for how entertaining that would be.”
“I do too have Medicine!” he said, and stuck out his tongue at her. “What, are you afraid of losing?”
She flashed the white spots on the backs of her ears at him. “Do not try to make me laugh!” she said. “I cannot be distracted. Name your terms!”
“Oh, it is a very simple bet,” he said. “First we try your Medicine, and then we try mine. Whoever’s Medicine is more impressive wins.”
“Hah!” she said with a smirk. “You like betting too much,

Description
Animals most commonly associated with the trickster around the world.
Yaq Tricks Her MateYaq Tricks Her Mate: A Desert Ghoul Folk-tale as Recorded from Oral Form by T. P. Hade of the Nonhuman Cultural Illumination Project
In this lifetime Yaq was born female. She lived in the land where desert meets grass. It was a bountiful place, with good territories and mates to choose from, but Yaq did not appreciate them. For years she turned her nose up at many clever males until she found what she was searching for.
This young male was hunting at the edge of his parent’s territory. He was gathering supplies so that he could leave them and begin his Matehood Journey. His fangs were handsome and his body well muscled, but what caught Yaq’s eye was his naive expression.
She bounded up to him and rubbed her cheek against his. “It’s you!” she said. “I see you in my dreams, and now those dreams have been answered. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know we’ll be perfect together.”
The young male fell back on his haunches and st FleasTwo immortals meet in a bar, only one by choice. It’s a quiet niche, small, cozy. Wolf’s hunting ground with solitude as prey. His camouflage is a black suit, a white beard, and a distant look.
Coyote is a firecracker, all noise and color, blue jeans and an assaultive tie-dye shirt. A tag dangles from the sleeve. Eyes follow his bee-line to Wolf, read the invitation printed on fabric.
Ask If I’m Wearing Underpants!
He plops on a stool next to his cousin and gives him a warm pat on the back. In absence of tail, he lets his tongue do the wagging. “Well, if it isn’t the handsomest humanimal around! How you been pal?”
Wolf takes a slow sip of his beer. “I had been… alone with my thoughts.”
“A nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.” Coyote signals the bartender. “I’ll have one of everything.”
The human’s eyes are suspicious slivers. “Pay up front or get out.”
C Road TripTwo immortals scratching itchy feet on the sidewalk.
Coyote in the lead, too drunk to remember where they are. Mangy-minded Coyote, always dying but never staying down. A dozen cans of Bud assault a bladder the size of an apple. He stops to lift his leg against a street light for the third time in an hour. His costume jewelry tinkles, grimy tags swinging from a pink collar. Odie- no address given.
The piece of Wendigo called Prankster waits, leash in hand, patient as a trained puppy. That splinter-souled elemental is a festival of color. Banana-yellow rain jacket, red t-shirt, green shorts blooming with purple flowers. Their supplies are sling over his shoulder in an orange backpack. A triangle of white, three black dots, and four lines turns the front into the face of a fox. His eyes are made of bleached-blue ice. They follow moths which dart, hypnotized, around the light. The former mangeur de lard has broadened his palate.
Coyote horse-kicks him in the shin. “Leave the Coyote SkinCoyote was walking along and found Puma practicing with her bow and arrows. “Hiya!” he said. “I’m bored. Wanna take a bet on whose Medicine is better?”
Puma’s ears twitched. A laugh rasped from her throat and she gave him a pat on the shoulder which left a bruise. “Silly little Long-Nose, you have no Medicine,” she said. “We can bet on how fast the grass will grow for how entertaining that would be.”
“I do too have Medicine!” he said, and stuck out his tongue at her. “What, are you afraid of losing?”
She flashed the white spots on the backs of her ears at him. “Do not try to make me laugh!” she said. “I cannot be distracted. Name your terms!”
“Oh, it is a very simple bet,” he said. “First we try your Medicine, and then we try mine. Whoever’s Medicine is more impressive wins.”
“Hah!” she said with a smirk. “You like betting too much,