On a gorgeous evening in May, I sat by a well-tended fire with a group of people I didn’t really know as stories were told in the best of possible ways. It had been a long day and I was all ready to go snuggle up in my tent, rising from my seat to do so, when one name caught my ears. Coyote. My behind found itself plonked firmly back into the chair as my body leaned forward eager to be engulfed by the story that emerged from Joseph Heywood’s lips. The next day, on seeing Coyote tattooed on my inner right arm, Joseph insisted it was a story I had to carry with me from that day onwards. Just as he has carried it after being gifted it himself by an Indigenous Elder (my apologies for not knowing who this Elder was). It is a traveller kind of story I think, one that likes to meet new people. Peer into them, through them, with them. What you are about to listen to is not a verbatim speaking of the story Joseph told that night by the fire. It is how it moved through me one morning. Next time, I suspect, it will have something different to tell us all. I had tried to sit with this story for the last few months but it always felt to be there, yet at a distance. As if sat at the far corner of the room from me, though willing to share space, not willing to converse. I wasn’t sure how it wanted to use my voice, or if it was even possible that the two of us might be companions. As much as I delighted in its company, I wasn’t sure if it was happy with mine. But then it suddenly arrived. ‘Now’ the story said ‘now we are good to go.’ It proceeded to pour through me in the way you are about to hear. Taking me as much by surprise as it might take you, for I have the suspicion that this particular Coyote is not done with either of us yet. We shall just have to wait and see…