Coyote-s Tale. Fire Water Page

“That,” he said to no one, “is fire water .” The People of the Sweet Springs kept the fire water in clay jars sealed with pine pitch. They said it was not for drinking—not really. It was for visions. For ceremonies. For speaking to the Grandfathers who lived beyond the Milky Way.

Coyote stared at his reflection. The creature in the water was old, tired, and wearing a fool’s expression. For once, he had nothing clever to say. Some say Coyote learned his lesson that day. They say he never touched fire water again. Coyote-s Tale. Fire Water

So when he smelled the strange new vapor rising from a canyon pool—steam that shimmered like heat lightning and bit the nose like a rattler’s tail—Coyote grinned. “That,” he said to no one, “is fire water

“That’s the fire water,” said the crow. “It promised you wings. It gave you stones.” For ceremonies

He stumbled into Badger’s den and declared himself Chief of Everything.

He had already stolen fire from the Fire People, tucking a burning coal into a hollow reed and racing across the plains until the smoke made him sneeze and sparks flew into the pine trees. That trick worked so well, he thought, why not try again?

Coyote’s Tale: The First Sip of Fire Water