Rose in a Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

flat to the ground.
    It was a large gathering of coyotes, several dens and theirpups scattered in a rough semicircle near the creek. There were all sizes and ages and colors, some a yellowish brown, others tawny gray, some whitish in color. Some of their tails were scraggly, some bushy; most had pointed muzzles. A few outside the circle seemed frightened, and tucked their tails between their legs, skulking at the outskirts of the group, staying near the woods.
    Most had gathered right by the creek. An animal lay dead and dismembered right by the water—it smelled to Rose like a large turkey. Puppies yipped in high-pitched voices, chased one another, and stole each other’s sticks and food. Mothers yipped and called for their children. Some of the males sniffed one another and the air, and looked up at the moon, barking, yipping, sometimes howling in long, piercing cries that soared across the meadow and were eaten up by the deep woods.
    To Rose, they seemed carefree, joyous. Although these were strange emotions to her, she did recognize them and had seen them in some of the other animals on the farm.
    She had never seen her mother play. She had seen her siblings play when she was a puppy and recognized it for what it was, but didn’t grasp the point of it, or its feel. She did not hang around with other dogs. She did not relish tug-of-war or chase balls.
    In the nearly full moon, glittering off the creek and lighting up the meadow, the coyotes stood out, backlit. Rose could hardly take her eyes off them.
    The coyotes moved in circles, back and forth. They threw twigs in the air, raced in circles around one another, again and again, as if each one knew where to go, what to do. The older ones stayed in the center, the younger ones moved chaotically on the fringe.
    Their speed was dizzying, and their howls and yips piercing and strange. Their eyes glowed, and they drooled and shook, their spittle and fur flying in the light.
    It was clear to her that this was not work, and not really play either, but something old and deep and free. They tossed pieces of the dead meat into the air, and chased after them, pausing to share and roll in the scent and blood.
    For the first time, she had some sense of the drama of food. Hers was given to her, but the coyotes had to find theirs, and this, more than any other thing, was what shaped the difference between her and them. She had her work, but food was their work.
    Rose stared motionless at the group for a long time, nearly until first light, and then, backing away slowly until it was safe, turned and began the long run back to the farmhouse, the yips and howls echoing in her mind.
    She was not cautious now, but free herself, sure of where she was going, unafraid of being seen, scattering the night creatures of the forest as she ran faster and faster.
    It was about a year later that Rose had encountered the coyote pup on the path. After that, when she and this young coyote met in the woods, usually by chance, they didn’t avoid each other as dogs and coyotes usually did. They sat and stared at each other, sometimes for minutes, then moved off. There was no fear, no aggression, no wariness between them. They had breached the wall between the two species, connected in the parts that were the same.
    The coyote pup had grown, had become the leader of his den. He kept away from the farm, and kept his pack away, too. Like dogs, coyotes understood the rules and usually followed them. Even though they were feared and hunted, they understoodthat hunting prey in the woods—young deer, rabbits, turkey—was safer and easier than venturing near humans, fences, and dogs.
    T ODAY , as the storm approached, pictures rushed through Rose’s mind, driving her out into the woods. In a storm like this one, there was only one rule: Survive. And there were few better survivors in the animal world than coyotes. The young leader would do what he had to do for his den, and Rose would do what she had to do to