Coyote-s Tale. Fire Water -

That’s a lie.

“That’s the fire water,” said the crow. “It promised you wings. It gave you stones.” Coyote-s Tale. Fire Water

That was the first lesson of fire water: it burns twice. Once going down. Once when you wake up. Coyote crawled to the river at dawn. His head felt like a drum someone had beaten all night. His eyes were red as embers. A crow landed nearby and laughed—a rusty, knowing sound. That’s a lie

“I feel like I gave birth to one,” groaned Coyote. It gave you stones

Badger just blinked.

He went back three times. Each time, he told himself: This time I’ll control it. And each time, the fire water controlled him—until the stars turned into needles, and his own howl sounded like a stranger.

Finally, on the fourth morning, Coyote buried the gourd and sang a quiet song: “I stole the flame for warmth and light. I stole the water to feel bright. But fire in the belly burns the soul. And too much bright will leave you coal.” Then he walked away, limping a little, and never stole fire water again.