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Prologue
A colossal moon rose over the crest of the Mesa. It rose fast and steadily, casting peaks and valleys, rifts and ravines, rock face and canyon walls in a cold, silvery light. At the eastern boundary of the Mesa the coyotes began to yip-yip, shrilly, urgently; then to howl, one by one, in a tonal wave that gained volume and swelled as it traveled across the high plain.
Near the cave a light breeze rippled the surface of a puddle that remained from the last rains. A rabbit came out of the undergrowth and followed the trail of scattered greenery towards the cave, languidly exploring and plucking at the abundance of weeds and grasses and high plain blooms tickled out of the earth by the spring sun. The rabbit sampled tender blossoms, stripped berries off shrubs and tore at fibrous leaves. Its cheeks bulged with this rare bounty as it nibbled its way along the trail toward the shadows of the cave. In the moon’s rays the rabbit’s shadow was large and grotesque: a humped shape with waggling antennae lurching along the ledge above the sheer drop. The rabbit’s neck snapped as easily as dry twigs breaking underfoot, its final breath rising moonwards as a high-pitched scream and mingling, briefly, with the coyotes’ shrill choir. At the foot of the Mesa a thousand Milagro lights twinkled and in the pale moonlight the cliff face glistened like bones.
