Firstborn by Tor Seidler

sky, and when the coyote appeared at the top of the cliff, her golden fur and delicate snout and shining eyes were plainly visible.
    â€œI hope you like marten,” Lamar said.
    â€œI suppose I should thank you for the food,” she said, making no move to descend from her citadel. “I haven’t felt much like hunting lately.”
    â€œWhere do you like to hunt?”
    â€œThis time of year Kyle was partial to the hot springs. Have you ever been?”
    â€œThe hot springs?” he said uneasily.
    â€œIf you go, be sure not to stay too long. The pools give off a gas that makes you woozy. Once we even saw a buffalo stumble to his knees. Kyle liked to pretend the gas had killed him and lie there like a corpse. One time a badger came snuffing up to him, and he grabbed it.”
    â€œVery clever. Is Kyle . . .”
    â€œHe was my mate. But he’s dead.”
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Lamar said.
    After a while he asked her name, but she didn’t reply.
    â€œI’m Lamar,” he said. “Where’s the rest of your pack?”
    â€œWe don’t have packs,” she said, and with that she vanished.
    When Lamar and I got home, he collapsed under my aspen.
    â€œOh, Maggie,” he groaned. “She has no pack. Thanks to me, she’s all alone. She has no one!”
    I didn’t say it, but it occurred to me that, in a way, she had him .
    Two nights later he took her a field mouse. He retreated to his usual spot, and it wasn’t long before the coyote appeared at the top of the cliff.
    â€œMy name’s Artemis,” she said.
    Artemis! Another wonderful name my parents hadn’t thought of. Lamar repeated it aloud, clearly enthralled by it.
    â€œYou’re kind of a strange wolf,” Artemis said, cocking her head to one side.
    â€œFrick says I’m not very wolflike sometimes,” Lamar admitted.
    â€œIs that your father?”
    â€œHe’s in my father’s pack.”
    â€œThe pack belongs to your father?”
    â€œMy father’s the highest-ranking wolf,” Lamar said, sitting up a little straighter. “Frick’s . . . I suppose he’s at the bottom.”
    â€œYou’re in a hierarchy?” she said.
    He looked blank.
    â€œThat means some wolves are ahead of others,” I told him.
    â€œOh,” Lamar said. “Don’t you have hierarchies, Artemis?”
    â€œCoyotes don’t believe in them,” she said. “We just have couples.”
    The next morning Hope suggested Lamar go ahead of her on the way to the hunt, but he shook his head.
    â€œIt’s time,” Hope said. “You’re much bigger and stronger than I am now.”
    â€œShe’s right,” Blue Boy said.
    But Lamar obstinately refused to go ahead of her. Artemis’s views on hierarchies must have made an impression on him.
    When I joined Lamar on the south side of the hill that night, Artemis’s howl sounded a little less mournful, more like the musical howl we’d first heard back in June. But as he was about to howl back there came a crunching sound in the snow.
    â€œHope I’m not barging in,” Frick said, casting a glance at me as he sat beside Lamar. “Isn’t that a coyote?”
    â€œIs it?” said Lamar.
    â€œNot as yappy as most, but I think so. I don’t suppose you know where she lives?”
    Lamar hesitated before admitting he did. “Though please don’t tell my father,” he added.
    â€œIt’s between you and me and Maggie,” Frick said. “Do you know this coyote’s name?”
    â€œArtemis. She’s the one who ran out of the hot springs. I killed her mate.”
    â€œAh.” Frick listened to the distant howl. “Did you apologize?” he asked.
    Lamar shook his head.
    â€œWell, I don’t suppose it matters. After all, wolves and coyotes don’t mix.”
    Two nights later Lamar took Artemis