The Hangers

Chapter One

I open the gate into the cottage and see my tame little friend. A few days after I was exiled, I found a coyote pup at my door. He was pitch black and had one trail of sticky, drippy, blood running from his eye to his chin. Bits of flesh hung off the scrape like a kite in the cold winter wind. Being only a thirteen, I ran. The poor creature tried to follow me but it could not keep up with my pace. That night, when nightfall fell, I went back to my little house. The pup was asleep at the gate, so I quietly climbed through the hole in the roof. All night, I remember tossing and turning in my nest. In the early morning, the Pup was snuggled up against my back. I recall thinking that I could trust this little dog. He was an outsider, like me. That day, I gathered the roots and berries needed to make a healing paste for him. When I got back, there he was, lying down on my nest, his face contorted in pain from that scar. He let me wash the rip out with water and examine the wound but when I put the paste on he screamed in such agony I could not put any more on. Instead, I used a soft leaf and fashioned a protective tissue to hold the blood. It worked, until he started to move. I went out of the house again, to collect more herbs and fern leaves. As the month wore on, the little pup learned to trust me, and I trusted him. Every morning, I would collect wood to make our shack more of a place to call home. Shot would hunt down birds, squirrels, and trout. Sometimes, on a lucky day, he would even catch a doe. I zoom back to the present. Its dark out and a good time to let myself rest up. Tomorrow is hunting day.