What Kind of Love
It was a surprisingly pleasant summer day, the sun holding court over the sky, barely anything more than a wispy cloud in sight. Koyote English watched as shadows danced, a gentle breeze tickling the trees, branches swaying, leaving laughing in their whispery wake. He sat on a boulder, partially submerged in the sparkling crystal waters of the river, his legs dangling into the refreshing liquid. Little fish and tadpoles darted around below the surface.
It was essentially a perfect day.
In a small clearing along the riverbank the remains of a picnic lingered, the traditional red and white gingham blanket spread over the grass. A wicker basket sat on one corner, a small cooler nestled up against its side. And Uaine, their cù sith puppy—a mythological harbinger of death—f
