A Dusty Sunrise
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer


Prompt: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/48616208/


The sun seemed reluctant to show its face, limning the clouds with a palette of pastel yellows as it rose higher in the sky and illuminated the two figures facing each other on the town’s main street.

Early risers had seen what was coming, and several had decided that they would go back to their homes for another cup of coffee. They didn’t want to ruin their breakfasts.

Facing north, the rising sun beginning to gleam off the silver adornments on his gun belt, stood a coyote; he had some other canine blood in him, because he was taller and more heavily-built than the standard coyote blood. He was dressed in trousers faded from black to charcoal gray, leather chaps, and a long-sleeved gingham shirt. His wide-brimmed hat was angled slightly to keep the sun’s glare from interfering. A pistol rested, holstered, partway down his right thigh.

Nearly thirty feet away and facing south stood his opponent. Again, a canine, but a femme with night-black fur, dressed in faded denim trousers, a blue shirt and wearing a hat that was angled as her opponent’s was. Her gun belt rested on her hips.

Paws hovered over the grips of their pistols.

Even the morning songs of the birds had stopped, and the slight dust-laden breeze died away.

“Last chance, Missy,” the coyote said in a gravelly voice. “Just walk away.”

Nearly obscured by her hat’s brim, the femme’s smile showed teeth. “Not hardly,” she said.

Paws reached –

The gunshots echoed down the silent street.

The two froze in a tableau vivant for a second that seemed ages long, before the coyote dropped his weapon. His free paw came up to press against the wet crimson bloom of blood marring his shirt as he dropped to one knee and slumped to the ground on his side.

The femme holstered her pistol and walked toward him as he gasped out his life in the dusty street, his blood seeping through his fur and oozing out onto the sand. Casually, she tipped her hat back and crouched beside him. “Should’ve done as I asked,” she said quietly.

Glazed by pain, his brown eyes stared up at her. “Who – who are – “ he choked out.

She tipped her hat further back, her gray eyes meeting his gaze.

The fires of Hell were reflected in her eyes.

Townspeople peeked out from cover, through windows and around doors, as the canine femme straightened up and walked away, headed west, leaving the coyote’s corpse in the street.



end