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Wile E.’s plastered to the road as surely as if an anvil had been dropped on him. His breath stills. It’s quiet enough to hear the blinks of the Road Runner’s eyes. He presses closer, beak pushing into flesh. Not hard. It doesn’t hurt. But it feels deliberate. Wile E.’s fingers twitch. He could reach up. Wrap his paws around the Road Runner’s neck. Open his jaws and clamp down on what’s all but being offered to him—but he can’t move, pinned in place by the weight of more than just a frail beak.
After the trial, Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner work out what they are to each other.
(One side has it much easier than the other.)
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