In the world we inhabit, there is reality—and there are shadows. It is not often that the two meet, but meet they do, in Coyote and Raven.
Both are hunters. Raven, a canny and skillful flier, hunts from the sky. Coyote, a canny and skillful runner, hunts on the ground. What if they should join forces? They have thought of that.
Morning in the sagebrush country in the dead of winter brings bitter cold. Little creatures sit tucked and folded into snug burrows or under low branches of the sage. Only at need do they move about. Some have hibernated and lie dreaming deep in the frozen ground, safe from predators. Some have stores of summer-gathered grain, and need only run from nest to granary down a safe tunnel. But some must venture forth to find food, and these are the prey of Coyote and Raven.
There are few prey this time of year, however. So on occasion the two most intelligent hunters of the northern desert join forces so they both can eat.
Coyote ranges far in her mile-eating trot, nose to ground, her breath puffing in frosty clouds. Shadow of her shadow is Raven, above and behind, spying out the land. When Coyote pounces, to Raven go the scraps. Not all coyotes hunt with a raven, but when they do, small creatures shiver in their burrows. Beware, little ones. Stay still, or the shadows will fall upon you. Winter is the time of hunters.
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