Jamba Dunn

    Crow gave Coyote a look of shame. "It is customary that we provide Wren with proper
nourishment for her journey. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her spirit, would
you."
    One at a time Coyote tried to persuade the animals, to no avail.  As they approached
the bluffs where she was to be buried, Coyote was most frantic.  His dishonest eyes darted
wildly about as he clutched arms, made helpless pleas, and did his best to contain the
drool that poured out from the dark sunken corners of his mouth.
    At the site, Mole had prepared a deep grave using a large oyster shell. The strongest
animals lowered Wren’s funeral sled into the deep pit and Hawk lit the tobacco in honor of
her passing.
    Coyote crouched at the edge of the grave where he sniffed at the air. “How does one
earn such a feast?" he asked, licking at his lips.  
    "Simply by dying," said Hawk.  "It is our tradition."
    Overtaken by greed, Coyote snatched the oyster shell away from Mole, bounded into the
grave, and slit his own throat.
    A moment later Wren emerged from the pit, and the animals roared with laughter. 
    They had quite a feast that night.

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