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Road Runner blinks awake from where he’s curled comfortably in his nest, opening his eyes to darkness lit only by the desert stars above.
At first he isn’t sure what’s stirred him—he’s never been a sound sleeper, but something about this feels different than his usual restlessness. There’s a disturbance in the air. Something… new? He dislikes that idea. The only time Road Runner enjoys new things is when Wile E. has created them. Anything else, well, it’s a threat to their routine, isn’t it? A distraction from the only thing that matters. His feathers ruffle in annoyance as he stands up, peering out into the night. His nests are always built high up on the cliffs; he builds new ones in new places whenever it suits him, but they aren’t particularly well hidden. He and Wile E. don’t play the game at night. Even creatures like them need their rest.
He lifts his beak, tasting anything the light breeze carries his way. And there it is, an acrid tang wafting toward him. The scent of a predator. But—it’s not right. Not right at all. This isn’t the familiar presence of his constant pursuer, which Road Runner knows as well as he knows himself.
He steps out of the nest, head swiveling in all directions. Whatever or whoever is out here, they clearly don't know how things go around here. He chirps a few times with a sharpness to the sound that isn’t usually there. If they’re smart, they’ll give up on whatever they think they’re doing and head in the other direction.
Out of the corner of his eye, a rustle from a thatch of tangled brush. He turns to face it, irritated and wary in equal measure, tilting his head. His tail and crest rise out of instinct, a warning to whatever hides there.
A snout emerges first from the dry and brittle grass. Above that maw full of sharp teeth, two yellow eyes glow bright with hunger. The intruder pads forward, a skinny and mangy creature. A coyote. But not his coyote, not even a cartoon. A real one, flesh and blood in the way that humans are. Road Runner has seen plenty of them, of course, but always from a distance. The constant explosions tend to keep any actual animals away from this area. If one risked venturing up here, it must be truly desperate.
It keeps low to the ground as it inches forward, eyes locked onto Road Runner, ready to lunge if its prey makes a move to run.
A laugh bubbles up in Road Runner’s mind. If only this dumb mutt knew! He sticks his tongue out at this poser, ready to charge past it and leave it befuddled in the dust left in his wake.
A furious howl pierces the air.
Something hits the coyote like a bat out of hell. It yawps in alarm as it’s flung onto its side, paws scrambling as it tries to stand again, but is tackled back down before it can. It and the new figure roll over and over as the initial surprise devolves into a true fight. For a second, even Road Runner’s lightning fast mind can’t process exactly what’s happening—all he registers is a blur of fang and claw, snarls and growls ripping apart the vast silence of the desert night.
When the two finally pull apart, it all becomes clear. It’s his coyote. Wile E. is almost unrecognizable. He’s crouched down on all fours, his hackles raised so that the fur all along his back bristles sharply, his teeth bared and snapping at the air. Road Runner lets out a startled beep as the canines circle each other. He sees how Wile E.’s ears twitch at the sound, but his companion doesn’t look away from the other coyote.
The beast barks sharply, and Wile E. answers it in kind, a feral sound Road Runner has never heard from him before.
Road Runner has witnessed decades upon decades of Wile E.’s inventions. He knows that the cave the other calls home is fit to burst with weapons and traps of every make and kind. But Wile E. has brought none of them to this fight. His brilliant mind has been cast to the side in exchange for pure instinct. This invader is not a cartoon. This is an animal, and it does not abide by time-outs, or unspoken rules, or what is fair. He’s speaking to this competitor in the only language it knows, and his meaning is clear.
My territory. My prey.
Road Runner’s feathers fluff up as a thrill runs through him.
The two coyotes come together again in a violent clash, and this time their brawl lasts much longer. Fur flies as they aim for each other’s most vulnerable parts, throat and belly and eyes. Road Runner kicks at the ground with his talons, wanting to intervene but knowing he’d just be a distraction. He shouldn’t be worried. He knows Wile E. can’t be hurt the same way a real animal can. But he can’t help it. This isn’t like their games. This is real, even if the consequences for Wile E. won’t last. The idea of anyone trying to harm him, no matter how futile it is, makes Road Runner’s chest coil tight with anger.
When the fray finally ends, the outcome is clear. Wile E. doesn’t bleed, but the other coyote certainly does. It stains the ground with dark red paw prints as it backs off, ears pinned back as it reassesses its opponent. One of those ears is only half the length it used to be, the rest of it torn off and nowhere to be seen.
There’s something hanging from Wile E.’s mouth. A ragged, bloody…something. He spits it onto the ground as if the taste disgusts him. Ah, Road Runner thinks. Well, that answers where the ear went.
The coyote gives a small, defeated yip before it turns away and slowly slinks off, tail tucked between its legs. It doesn’t look back even once.
Only when it has disappeared over the horizon does Wile E. stand up, shaking the dust out of his fur. He wipes away the remaining drool and blood from his snout with a grimace. Then he turns to face Road Runner, calmer now, but with a certain wild glint still in his eyes.
For a long moment they simply stare at each other. As always, Road Runner comes back to his senses faster and pulls out a sign. [That was dramatic.]
Wile E. rolls his eyes and holds up a sign of his own. [You're welcome.]
Road Runner’s tail twitches, a bit offended at the idea that Wile E. would think he was in any real danger. [It wouldn’t have caught me.]
[I know. I don’t care.]
Oh. So it’s like that, then. His coyote didn’t come to save him, but to stake a claim. Road Runner hops from foot to foot, pleased. [You got here fast.]
Wile E. shrugs and flips to another sign. [Already following him.]
Road Runner tilts his head. [Why?]
[Too close to what’s mine.]
And that’s it; Road Runner can’t contain himself anymore. In the blink of an eye he’s pressed close to Wile E., beeping happily as he scruffs his head against Wile E.’s neck. He feels Wile E. freeze, standing ramrod straight as Road Runner continues to nuzzle against him. His paws twitch at his sides like he has no idea what to do with them. His pupils morph into dazed swirls.
Actually, he’s not breathing, either. Road Runner can’t feel the rise and fall of his chest as he leans against it. His coyote, flustered enough by a hug to forget basic bodily functions—cute, cute, cute! But as much as he’d like to stay here forever, Road Runner figures his poor coyote has been through enough tonight—he shouldn’t tease him too much. He hops backward, amused by the stunned look on Wile E.’s face and the way his tail is wagging, probably without him even realizing it.
He waits patiently for Wile E. to recover. In the meantime, he looks over to his nest, and then at the aftermath of the fight that is spread all across the ground: fur, blood, the discarded ear. He frowns. There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep around this mess. He’ll have to scurry off to one of the other nests he has scattered throughout their territory.
He looks back at Wile E., who seems to have finally regained control of his body. His arms are crossed and he’s looking away, but there’s no hiding the obvious blush that blooms all across his snout, or that his tail is still swishing like a puppy’s. Wile E. might be the one who chases, but Road Runner could just eat him up.
Before that particular train of thought can get out of control, Road Runner holds up one more sign.
[See you tomorrow?]
Wile E. grins. [Always.]
A farewell, and a promise. Road Runner sticks out his tongue, beeps happily, and takes off.
He can hardly wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow, and every day after, just the two of them, as it always should be.