Coyote Tales

Coyote's Gift

The Creative Spirit couldn't remember where he came from, but he knew where he was going. He was going to find company even if it took traveling to the farthest reaches of the star-speckled emptiness to do so.

He looked and looked, but there was no one else to talk to. Disappointed, he stopped to rest on a large empty rock floating in the blackness and let his mind wander. There was water on the rock. He imagined a being that could absorb it into itself, combining it with energy taken from a nearby star to grow and become beautiful.

He thought and thought, until tiny green tendrils began sprouting from the soil. A smile bloomed on his face. He thought up more and more, until he lost count of how many different types he had created. He named them plants.

The plants were pleasant to look at, but they were not company. The Creative Spirit thought harder about what kind of beings could do this. He thought of beings that could move over the surface of the rock, through the sky, and under the water. His Medicine gave life to his imagination once again, and creatures of countless forms sprang up to live where he imagined they were best suited. He named them animals.

He was still not satisfied. The animals were aware of him when he visited them, but they were not able to carry on conversations. They also did not last forever. Even with plenty of food, their bodies eventually wore out and they died.

He puzzled over the mistakes he had made in designing the animals. Though he was free to wipe them off of the face of the rock and start over, he had already grown too attached to them. Instead, he thought harder about what kind of being could transcend these flaws. He created intelligent minds that were not tied to physical bodies. They floated through the air and rippled under the water, curious, exploring their new surroundings. He named them manitous.

The manitous filled him with a greater joy than the animals had been able to bring. As spirit beings they were more like himself. They expressed an interest in his work, so he decided to give each of them a job. "Bring rain so that the plants and animals may thrive," he told one. "Search out the old and sick to ease into relief through death," he told another. One by one each received an assignment and spread out over the rock.

For some time the Creative Spirit was satisfied with the company the manitous provided. He visited them randomly and checked on their progress. Eventually something began to nag at him though. They could speak to him, but their responses seemed limited to simple questions and observations. His loneliness grew again, but he brushed away the thought that his newest creations were as imperfect as their predecessors.

One day he decided to travel north and search out the nearest manitou. It was winter, and he found one named Wendigo dutifully at work sprinkling the landscape with snow. Wendigo was an odd manitou, brought into existence with a hunger similar to the one the animals felt but no way to satisfy it due to his lack of physical form. The Creative Spirit had fussed over the poor creature when he discovered this, but could not figure out how to fix him. Already too attached to unmake him, he gave Wendigo the task of looking after winter in the north and using it to make sure only the strongest animals survived to contribute to the next generation. The manitou was rewarded with the life energy of the animals that died during his season. He never made the weather too harsh or took more than he was allowed.

The Creative Spirit materialized on the ground and stretched his hand out into the wind. "Wendigo! I am glad to see you. How has your work been?".The snow stopped falling and the wind crawled across his body, nipping and tugging at his clothes as if searching for something. A voice whistled from it. Fooo...oood?