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WHEN COYOTE MET MISTY
By C
Part I
For the Mythican hunter in a hurry, there are few manuals more clearly written–and more informative–than Crinolina: A Brief Guide for Busy Predators . Every paragraph is a little feast in itself. Let me share with you a few of my favorite passages:
"No land fay in Mythica is more winsome, or more flavorful, than Fatamorgana Crinolina--Crinolina for short. Unlike other fays, she always wears a sleeveless dress with full skirt and petticoat. The petticoat is a veritable baffle of brilliant white crinolines–sometimes a hundred or more. A pair of magic high heels, always matching at least one color on the dress, completes her ensemble and enables her to run at speeds daunting to most predators . . . ."
"She has other defenses besides her speed: for example, her crinolines are not just a lure for prospective mates; they mask her scent quite effectively, so that she is easily the most difficult fay to track. And mature crinolinas command a number of glamors and enchantments . . . ."
"She is not, however, uncatchable. For instance, she is as vulnerable as any other fay to those predators that sit and wait . . . . "
The covey of crinolinas had spread out through the valley in their search for wildflowers, so that none was closer to another than thirty feet. Such an arrangement lessened the chance of quarrels over food. Misty, a blonde, beautifully mature crinolina in a white dress with red polka-dots, was standing about dead-center in the valley. She had found an especially scrumptious cluster of bluebells and was glancing over toward her friend Jenna to see what the other girl might have discovered. Just then, a clump of grasses in front of Jenna flew apart and out jumped a giant trapdoor spider. Jenna screamed as she fell back in the high grass, the monster on top of her. Her lemon-yellow skirt flew up. Her yellow heels kicked, again and again. At this point, Misty and the others began to run. "Don't panic!" she heard up and down the line of fays. "Don't panic!" Then another girl screamed, and yet another, both of them claimed by spiders. "They're everywhere!" someone shouted. The girls now galloped off in every conceivable direction. About ten feet ahead of Misty, a green-clad girl was taken from behind. Thick black legs enveloped her, drew back her petticoat, and pulled her, thrashing and shrieking, into the monster's lair. Within seconds only her legs could be seen, the panties already at her ankles. Then she was gone. Misty heard more screams and held her ears to shut them out. "Just . . . let me . . . get away" she said to herself as she dashed along, her red pumps flashing.
"If the covey in which crinolinas customarily travel is scattered, its members become a good deal more vulnerable . . . ."
Where were the others? Misty couldn't tell. Unable to think of anything else to do, she kept on running. Soon she came to a wood. Zooming along would be dangerous in this tangle of trees, so she slowed to a walk and moved cautiously in. After what seemed like an hour, she found a clearing. Stepping out into the open, she saw that she was not the first arrival. Standing in front of a big rock in the middle of the clearing were three other crinolinas. As she got closer, Misty saw they were a trio of young adults from her covey: Barbi, a blonde dressed in sky-blue; Buffy, a brunette in pink; and Bonnie, a redhead in key-lime green. Misty groaned inwardly: she had never thought much of these three; but familiar faces were familiar faces, so she joined them.
"Misty!" said Barbi. "How are you?"
"A little tired," said the older fay. "We should probably rest, and then go looking for the others. I think . . . ."
Before she could finish, Buffy interrupted: "Bad luck about those spiders, hunh?"
"I'll say!" said Bonnie. "One minute, we're talking about who to take to the big fay dance; the next, we're running for our lives!"
"The boys wouldn't want to see us all mussed up like this!" said Barbi as she straightened out a wrinkle in her skirt.
"Well," said Misty. "If you don't want to get really 'mussed up,' I suggest we give some thought to getting back to the . . . ."
"Say," said Barbi to Buffy, "Do you think Merovech would like it if I squirted some clover honey behind each ear?"
"Honey, Merovech isn't interested in your ears!" Buffy said with a laugh.
"Is anyone listening to me?" said Misty.
"We're listening," said Barbi. "By the way, Buff, do you still have that nail polish?"
And so it went. Misty sighed and checked their surroundings for suspicious clumps of grass. It was just then that Bonnie let out a shriek. "Mouse!" she cried. "Oh dear God! Oh dear God!"
"Some of nature's humblest creatures undergo a strange alchemy when fays are near. The most remarkable example of this phenomenon is the lowly field mouse, who becomes a fierce and lethal hunter whenever a crinolina is unlucky enough to cross his path. Undaunted by her crinolines, he darts straight up her leg and then bites her where she is most tender. Unless she can quickly pull him free, his little nips will soon overcome her. Her crinolines are now a hindrance to her as she struggles to grasp him and toss him away . . . ."
Misty looked over and saw the mouse, just a few feet from Bonnie. She and the others turned to run, only to realize that the big rock was surrounded by a gang of the evil little creatures! They were resting on their hind legs, blinking their beady little eyes, and licking their lips. Gasping and crying now, the four fays jumped up onto the rock and tucked their skirts between their legs. "Don't move," said Misty. For once, the others paid attention.
Minutes passed, and nothing happened. Misty looked down at the nearest mouse, and for the first time her keen crinolina eyesight perceived something very strange: on the creature's belly a word was stenciled: ACME. "What the fuck is this?" she said.
"A diversion, if cleverly engineered, can be very effective . . . . "
Misty examined the other mice and saw that all were marked in exactly the same way. What's more, aside from blinking and licking, the little monsters were not moving at all. With further scrutiny, it soon became clear that their blinks and licks had a distinctly mechanical rhythm. "They're not real!" said Misty. "Hey guys, they're not . . . ." Just then she realized she was alone on the rock. Where had the others gone? She heard a moan, coming from beyond the far edge, so she walked over to take a look. There, on the ground below her, lay Barbi, Buffy, and Bonnie. Their dresses looked . . . disheveled, as if something had been pawing at them. Each girl had a bite mark high on her left breast. Clearly, some critter much bigger than a mouse was responsible. The girls appeared to be semi-conscious: they moaned, and kicked spasmodically, but otherwise produced no sound or movement. Misty was about to jump down to take a closer look, when she heard a noise behind her. She turned. It was Coyote. His right paw was extended, and in it was a little heap of gray powder. "Acme's patented Sleepy Dust," he said. "Just the thing for quiet captures!" Then he blew the powder into her face.
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