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Coyotes Run (CA - Zander & Matthew)

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They arrived at the homely little town of Coyote's Run just after midnight.  Though Zander and his young companion had escaped the deepest heart of the desert, the small, suburban city they now zipped through was still within the desert's clutch. The homes were dusty and old, though kept in good repair. The cracked earth of their lawns were dead or composed only of a tasteful array of succulents and cacti.  Even if the desert could not be forgotten, her wrath seemed to have been softened in those family homes and the cold, night air.

Desperately tired, Zander made no grandiose introductions when they arrived at his cousin's home.  The tired travelers were welcomed by an older man with pale skin, a greying beard, and kindly emerald green eyes.  He had only introduced himself as 'Hal' before leading both Zander and the young teen to separate rooms without further question.

If there was anything to note about his room, Zander did not observe anything more than the sheets were clean and the beds made.  He collapsed into the bedding without pulling up the covers and thought of nothing until the following morning.

Matthew was dead tired when they arrived at Zander's cousin's house, not to mention still terribly sore from all the days walking and now riding he had done. He only had the strength to mutter a reluctant thank you to the host of the house, and collapse in the bed that was in the room provided for him, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

The night passed peacefully, without so much as a cricket chirp.  The desert was a silent place, even in the suburbs.  All manners of people kept themselves tucked away in their homes to rest, and all manners of creature kept themselves out of sight beneath the nearly moonless night.

The following morning, however, the noise began again.  Largely the clatter of silverware below, and a voice.  The voice was feminine and soft.  She sang beneath her breath, no more than a hum really, and done largely for her own account.  Above the sizzle of breakfast, her words could not be entirely made out.  A delicious aroma of blueberry, syrup, and frying butter wafted up from the steps.

Matthew was slow to wake up. He first heard the clatters and hum from below. Then he started to smell all the scents of a delicious hearty breakfast. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had some kind of real home cooked meal; It must've been months now, if not longer. His hazel eyes softly opened as he stared at the wall for a while, just taking in the stimulants as they came. Still a little exhausted, it took him a moment to remember all the nights events. Although awake now, he didn't move from the bed.

The smell of breakfast persisted, followed by the aroma and sizzle of bacon hitting the frying pan.

The feminine voice, meanwhile, had grown in crescendo until the soft hum of her voice became fully belted lyrics.  The voice was not unpleasant, although at present lacking in restraint.

"Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all
The time
Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, oooh
I don't want to die...."

Later, as the woman's voice faded off, and the pan had ceased to sizzle, footsteps lingered outside of Matthew's door.  Their presence could be felt even after their owner had not moved an inch, as though waiting for the boy to emerge.  Yet he did not.

"Leave him be," the same, feminine voice that had sung the entirety of the Queen's album and more said besides him.  Her footsteps had been so slight on their arrival, they would have gone unnoticed unless listened for.

The second voice sighed, now recognized as Zander's, "He's got to be hungry and thirsty.  We wasted a lot of calories out there".

"If you barge in right now, he'll be figuring out how to run," the woman suggested. Suddenly both pairs of footsteps retreated by several paces, presumably drawn away by the woman.

"And when did you get so smart, Megan?" Zander's voice came, more distant and muffled.

The woman, Megan, laughed, "Because that's what coyotes do, silly. They run.  You do the same thing".

Zander made a few sounds of evident protest to being lumped in the same category as Matthew and both fell quiet.

Matthew listened to the voices outside his door. As they faded away, Matthew moaned and shoved the pillow over his head. He still didn't want to move, his body fatigued and his mood plummeted. And so he continued to sleep in a few more hours.

A few more hours passed.  The smell of frying butter and blueberry pancakes faded, although had slightly lingered.  Neither Megan nor Zander had returned up the stairs, although the distant rumble of voices could be heard coming from below the stairs.  It was too soft for an ordinary human's, although the heightened senses of a werewolf might be able to discern it if listening closely.

"Stop pacing," Megan said rather loudly, "You'll wear a hole in the floor".

There was a grumble of protest from Zander, words too soft to be distinct.

"For all you know, he's up and gone out the window," Hal's deep voice interceded abruptly.

"He's not," Zander replied, "I can um.. well, his smell's too strong for that".

There was a pause in the conversation, where presumably both Megan and Hal looked at him.

"I keep forgetting you can do that," Megan said in a frowning tone.

"I keep forgetting you can't," Zander said in a quip.

Again, another silence lapsed and footsteps started to echo along the tile floor again.  Finally Megan sighed and suddenly Zander cried out in surprise.

"What was that for?" Zander's asked.

"You're wearing a hole in the floor," Megan grumbled, "Go help my dad at the shop, why don't you --"

"-- I shouldn't leave you alo--"

"I got this," Megan said with faint strain, and one could imagine her pushing Zander along, "Why not you go do something useful".

This agreement, despite much protest from Zander, was evidently accepted by all.  The two men departed out the garage and drove off.  Megan became quiet again for another 15 minutes. Then she too exited out the front door, although where she went could not be seen from the vantage of Matthew's window.

Matthew had awoken at some point but still lingered in bed as he listened to the voices down stairs. He felt how dry his mouth was and grumbled. When he heard the house fall silent, it was enough to help him find the energy to pull himself out of bed.

He went and drank some of his water from the water bottles that were still in his bag. He then poked his head out of the room and, not seeing anyone but eyeing a bathroom nearby, went over and took a shower. He may of been in a strangers home, but typically strangers didn't let you in unless they were okay with you, you know, using their home. So, he made himself at home- as much as he could.

After his shower he put on slightly less dirty cloths than what he had previously been wearing. He poked out the door once more and upon not seeing anyone, he returned back to his room and grabbed his backpack. It unfortunately felt too heavy with how sore and exhausted he'd made himself from the prior days events and he couldn't pick it up. After trying to lift it and not able to stop his body shaking from the strain of attempting to, he finally chucked some water bottles out until it was light enough to go on his back. With his back pack in tow, he set out to explore downstairs.

Zander was right and Matthew was very much hungry. He followed his nose to find the leftovers of the breakfast made that morning in the kitchen. Discovering a few blueberry pancakes still on the table, he leaned over to grab one and stuffed a massive bite in his mouth. Yep. Making himself at home.

Everything had been left for Matthew as a guest in the home - extra towels and nice little soaps left in the bathroom and a freshly made plate of pancakes with an accompanying bottle of real maple syrup downstairs.  Someone had even been kind enough to lay a cover over the plate to keep the flies off, and there was a microwave as well if he would like to warm it up.  Even cold , however, the blueberry pancakes tasted great.

Suddenly the front door clicked ajar.  The entryway couldn't be seen from the kitchen, but there was one pair of feet and the smell of fresh dirt in the air.

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