Chapter Text
Today had been a joyful day for the Roadrunner. The Coyote wouldn’t stop chasing him, as usual, and that brought a spark back to his routine. Although he sometimes couldn’t help but worry about the spectacular accidents the coyote suffered in the course of his own game, the coyote always came back to check that he was safe. Only when he confirmed that the Coyote was still in one piece would he give him a soft chirp before continuing on his way.
The bird had lived in that arid landscape since the day he was born. It never crossed his mind to move away or travel the world, despite possessing prodigious speed.
He knew of the existence of the other toons, but he preferred to guard the borders of his territory. The Coyote was the only one it tolerated within its domain; without that endless pursuit, it would have been bored to death from the very beginning.
Chasing away other visitors was tedious and took up his valuable time—which was quite ironic for someone capable of moving at an unmatched pace. His reputation preceded him among the other creatures, and he found it somewhat amusing to watch them flee before they even touched a single grain of sand. There were others of his kind, yes, but due to an old conflict, they had left, leaving him as the sole inhabitant of the area.
Not that he cared all that much: none of them met his standards, and he found their slow movements exasperating.
However, at times he longed to settle down and raise chicks that he would watch grow up and leave. The idea of sharing his life with a mate was certainly tempting, but he knew the price: that commitment would mean the end of his game with his Coyote. Eighty years might sound like an eternity to anyone else, but between the two of them, time had flown by so quickly that he wanted to continue that dynamic for many more decades.
Her shelter sat atop a rocky plateau that was difficult to reach. Although there was a popular belief that her species couldn’t fly—which wasn’t entirely true, since she glided effortlessly when the occasion called for it—she preferred to take a couple of precise flaps of her wings to scale the mountain. Her bed of intertwined sticks and stones was cozy despite its rough appearance.
Settling in under the cloak of night, he gazed at the stars with perfect clarity. It was one of the great virtues of the desert. Yet, as he lay back in that nest—far too spacious for a single body—a heavy sense of longing enveloped him. Neither the trinkets he’d taken from the Coyote nor the items he’d stolen from tourists could fill that void.
He felt deeply alone. What a tragic irony.