Ha’penny Dreadfuller
The coyote stopped at the edge of the well, a warning rumbling in her throat. On the way up the hill, her entire body telegraphed a change in the air. The smell of decay pulsed in her nostrils, and her tail was working overtime, whiplashing the flies from the furless patches of skin on her haunch. The signals ran from one end of her body to the other. Heat begat the smell, begat the flies, begat the tail...