4/3/2026, 6:49 PM
Coyote had started to take it upon himself to scout ahead of the others. He isn't the keenest of eyes nor the fastest but he's evidently the one with a nose for knowing trouble from an inconvenience, which allows him to feel confident in the position of breaking the ground ahead of them. His advance is curious today, lured further than planned by the frozen strands of hanging petals just about the shade of crimson.
They remind him a little of the flores de nochebuena his Mamá had shown him.
Do they smell the same?
Hello?
That's the distant sound which spins him around, scaps-for-ears pricked high in alert. Now what's that?
Coyote navigates through the winding, dim treescape. It's a far cry from any terrain he's seen before and the novelty sparks the slightest of tail wags as he continues forth.
His tail stops the moment he finds the grey-furred body face-first in the snow. He stops next to sniff the air.
Doesn't smell dead.
His muzzle wrinkles when he asks, his own voice softer than he's used to, "¿Estás muerto?"
They remind him a little of the flores de nochebuena his Mamá had shown him.
Do they smell the same?
Hello?
That's the distant sound which spins him around, scaps-for-ears pricked high in alert. Now what's that?
Coyote navigates through the winding, dim treescape. It's a far cry from any terrain he's seen before and the novelty sparks the slightest of tail wags as he continues forth.
His tail stops the moment he finds the grey-furred body face-first in the snow. He stops next to sniff the air.
Doesn't smell dead.
His muzzle wrinkles when he asks, his own voice softer than he's used to, "¿Estás muerto?"
