Coyote

Chapter 3: The Wolf-Moot

"Aiyeee! Howl with me! We are dwellers of the night! Gods among mortals! Tonight, we are WOLVES!"

All the assembled howled and laughed as ferociously as they could. The leader of the Wolf-Moot, the feared matriarch Genevieve the Gnome Gnasher, called everyone to order. Though she was the oldest of the gathered by many years, she still commanded respect. In her youth, she would venture outside of the forest for weeks on end. No one ever knew where she would go off to. When she returned, she would walk to the great falls and drop a small figurine with a pointy red hat (she told them all that it was called a gnome, hence her name) into the water and watch as it flowed off the side of the falls and smash into a thousand pieces. She would then silently walk away and recommence normal life within the community for a while. Eventually, she would disappear again, and bring back yet another unfortunate garden gnome slated for execution by waterfall.

Nobody crossed her.

Now, she led the Wolf-Moot. She was no longer as young as she once was, but she was certainly older.

She scraped her claws against the rock she stood on, calling everyone to attention. The rock was raised above the rest of the surrounding area. The trees were a thicker but were spaced farther apart. Some members of the community had climbed up onto the lower branches and were now lying there. I had stayed on the ground nearby the rock. Afterall, it would have been such a hassle to climb up the tree just to have to climb back down and then climb up the rock.

Genevieve spoke, her voice reverberating throughout the meeting place. "Brothers, sisters, siblings, welcome! Welcome to the Wolf-Moot. Now, some might say that we aren't actually wolves, that we are something lesser. They call us 'Coyotes,'" (the crowd booed dramatically) "To that I say shove off! We may be small, but our teeth are sharp, and our ears are pointy. If those overgrown dogs can be called wolves, then I say why not us?"

"Here, here!" cried the crowd enthusiastically. Eli clapped politely.

Once the crowd quieted down, Genevieve continued. "We have been summoned here by one of our own. Everyone, I call to the stage, William!"

There was no applause as I scrambled up the rock. At this point in my life, I was not the feared overlord that I claim to be today. Subjects must be earned, and I had not yet earned loyal subjects of my own. That would come with time. One can hope.

Genevieve breathed onto my face, the traditional welcome at the Wolf-Moot. She turned to face everyone. "Listen to William! Hear what our brother has to say! And then may we all have the strength and fortitude of mind to best answer his calls."

"Hello," I called out, my voice a bit hoarse. Public speaking was yet another thing that people had to grow into. I paced around the rock nervously. "So, the other day I, like, was attacked by a vicious beast or something. It was totes scary." Again, it took me some time to learn how to be a good public speaker. There is no shame in that. Everyone grows and develops at their own pace.

The crowd, obviously, felt very differently.

"Hehehe, who let the little pup join the grownup party?" Mr. Rogers, my awful neighbor called out. Some of the people standing next to him voiced their agreement.

"Wolves like us don't get scared," called out another nemesis of mine, East Southwest. He was a big and tough individual who went to school with me. He was mean, but in a pretty sort of way. Whenever he criticized me, or stepped on my toes, I tended to just swoon. Those whiskers, let me tell you-

And I'm being told by my publisher that I don't have the space to elaborate, nor did the focus group care for the extra details. Moving on.