>It's late in the evening, and the first of the fireflies have started to dance in the shade of the reeds on the far side of the lake.
>The last rays of the setting sun paint the sky in brilliant shades of pink and tangerine, and all about you shadows spread like wildfire, crowding you further and further into the pale glow of your propane lantern.
>The afternoon murmurs of the forest die one by one until there's nothing left to hear but the sigh of the wind in the trees and the soft, steady rush of gas on the burner.
>You do your best not to make it obvious, but you can tell she's edging closer to you.
>Now and again the branches rustle just so, and you can feel her tail switch and her grip tighten on the old buck knife you'd gotten back when you were in the scouts.
>That was so long ago now, but when you remember, it never feels like it. 
>But none of the rustles send you reaching for your gun, and each time you don't she settles slowly, turning the blade over in her paw and pretending she was only studying the inscriptions. 
>But you don't mention that.
>She's a coyote. A wild scavenger, and she's proud of it.
>She'd said so ever since you were kids.
>You'd lived on the same block, and had built yourself a fort in the woods behind the houses there.
>And she'd loved the idea, because she was wild and free.
>Even if she had insisted on building it a little closer to her house than you'd been thinking.
>She'd dared you to spend the night there, and been sure you wouldn't. You were a soft, squishy human, after all, and not tough like her.
>You'd run scared as soon as the sun set, and freeze to death if you didn't. She was sure of it.
>But you had stayed there, and another night after, and then more than you could remember.
>She'd add something to the dare every time, to "make things interesting", she said.
>But she'd never gone with you.
>It hadn't taken you long to catch on, and you guessed she knew you knew, but you let her have it.

>It had gone on years like that, even when the old fort in the woods gave way to the scouts, and then camping whatever sites your old jeep could drag you to.
>Even when you signed up at the local recruitment office, and when the time came to ship off to basic, she'd "dared" you to get on the bus.
>And she'd gone off to college in California, but you kept contact, and when they ordered you to Afghanistan, she dared you to get on the airplane. Then seized you in the tightest embrace of your life, and dared you to come back to her safely.
>But yesterday she'd come home from college with a degree in Astronomy, and you weren't on active service anymore.
>You'd met for coffee.
>And all these years later, you'd finally dared her back.
>That had brought the two of you here, tucked side by side in the glow of a lantern as the first stars of Friday evening come alight overhead.
>Of course she'd been nervous all day.
>To date you weren't sure if she was actually trying to hide it. Maybe she pretended to for old times' sake, or maybe she just didn't know how to end the long con, no matter how well either of you knew the truth.
>She'd even started to make out like she was getting sick, you should delay.
>That had been the final straw.
>You'd said it would be okay, and that you'd protect her.
>You'd said it like you were teasing her, and she'd responded with a bit of banter all her own.
>But her tail didn't switch so much afterword,
>And when the time came to leave, she wasn't "sick" anymore.
>Of course, the tail-switching had gotten worse the further you'd driven from civilization, but you'd put on an old favorite song the two of you had listened to way back then, and pretended it had just come on by accident.
>And with the memories it brought, you'd reminded her of all the nights in the fort, and the camping, and all the dares you held your end on, and how you were just fine, weren't you?
>And this time you would finally be together, and wouldn't that be fun?
>You suppose she thought so too, because you can feel the heat of her breath on your neck, and the brush of her paw as she works it under your palm.

>You ease a little of your weight off that hand and let her slip it under, and the both of you pretend none of that happened on purpose.
>But it's warm, soft, and earnest in its grasp, and just like you'd always imagined it would be.
>Just like you pretended it was on the longer trips when you couldn't help getting a little lonely with only your old SKS for company.
>Just like you'd pretended when you'd watched the sun set over the desert from the Humvee turret.
>Every time you went out, you'd wished she was there, but you'd never told her that in any way you didn't dress up as a tease.
>You suppose it's just another thing you probably both knew all along, and it was better late than never.
>There's no light left at all now, and the temperature's started falling.
>Each degree brings her another inch closer, and finally she sets her head on your shoulder. Then her tail wraps around behind you and finds its way into your lap.
>"What's that about?"
>"Just keeping you warm," she says, suppressing a shiver.
>You thank her and pull her into your jacket.
>But the lantern's getting low, and the hiss quiet.
>She glances nervously along the boarder of the retreating light, ears swiveling and eyes snapping to every rabbit or owl call. 
>"Probably ought to start a fire, huh?"
>She nods eagerly, making sure to keep hold of your hand as you stand and work your way up the bank.
>"Too bad we didn't catch anything," she whispers, but you can tell she's glad you won't be cleaning any fish.
>"It happens."
>"I don't know why I couldn't get the damn hook baited, those worms were fucking slippery."
>They probably wouldn't have been if she'd touch them with anything more than her nails.

>She does her best to help, gathering what kindling she can within a few feet of you, and stacking the logs as best she knows how. 
>You do your best to rearrange them without drawing too much attention to her mistakes and hand her your flint to start things off, adding a dash of kerosene while her back is turned.
>"Like this?"
>You take her paw and correct the motion a little.
>"Like that."
>"Gotcha."
>The striker chirps, and the dash of kerosene flashes the tinder into a healthy, smoky flame.
>"I did it!"
>She throws her arms around you and squeezes a second, pretense burning away with the first of the yellow flame.
>"I started a fire all by myself! I told you so, Anon!"
>"Yep."
>The two of you sit side by side for some time, watching the flames and picking at bits of snack food.
>She huddles close to you again and locks her arm with yours, keeping an ear on the snapping of the fire, and another on the quiet rustles from the forest.
>She's not glancing around so much anymore though, and you can't help noticing a shallow smile spreading down the length of her muzzle.
>"It's a beautiful night," she says, staring up at the broad stain of the Milky Way.
>"Yeah, the stars are great out here. Bet it doesn't have anything on those big-ass telescopes though, huh?"
>She smirks a little and shakes her head.
>"Nah, we just look at graphs all day. Stare at emission spectrums long enough and its easy to forget what you're really looking at, and sometimes that means its really easy to forget why you're looking at all."
>She points up at the sky, and you follow her nail to the Cygnus constellation.
>"You see that one off the Northern wing, Anon?"
>It takes you a second, but you do.
>"I see it."
>"You remember that star being there?"
>You'd learned a little about the constellations back in the scouts. You never looked that closely, but it does look off to you.
>"Don't think so."
>"That's because it wasn't. It's a supernova, and in a few months, it'll be gone."
>"That so?"
>"Yeah," she says, burrowing her muzzle into your shoulder.
>"Of course, it was there all along," she adds, voice muffled by your jacket, "Two stars, actually. Orbiting about each other and never quite meeting. We just couldn't see them when they were stars. They weren't bright enough until they came together and... exploded."
>She squeezes you a little harder and gets quiet awhile, eyes shifting to the embers as the fire burns low in the pit. The shadows draw in again and play across her face like marionettes. Before long the light's all but gone, and you can feel her muscles tensing as the darkness envelops you.
>You sit in silence awhile longer, watching the last of the glow die. You can feel her getting nervous again, but you hold her close. She holds on awhile longer, but then a twig snaps somewhere on the edge of your camp, and her tail twitches violently.
>"Anon?"
>Her voice is a little shaky.
>"Yeah?"
>"I'm glad you took me out here, but..., well, it's probably too late for us to go home, isn't it?"
>"Home?"
>She squirms a little.
>"We're just so far from everything and there's so much out there we can't see...."
>You point back up toward the Milky Way.
>"It's like that up there, too. You seem to like it well enough."
>"That's different," she whines, but she can't seem to find the words to say how.
>"We'll be fine. You can do it. Come on, I dare you."
>She can't help cracking a bit of a smile, and the two of you stand and turn for your tent.
>You zip the flap shut behind you and settle onto your bed roll. She turns to face you, muzzle lit dimly in the beam of your old flashlight as if she's telling a scary story.
>"Anon?"
>"Yeah?"
>"Can we leave the light on?"
>You stifle a bit of a laugh, and she scrunches her muzzle scornfully.
>"C'mon, please don't make this any more embarrassing."
>"Yeah, yeah, alright."
>She nods, then cocks her head.
>"Anon?"
>"Yeah?"
>"Can I sleep with you?"

>You've wanted to hear those words for a very long time. This wasn't quite the context you had in mind for them, but now that you're here, you couldn't have asked for better.
>"Yeah. Sure."
>It probably sounds a lot more eager than you mean it to, and you'll be damned if your heart doesn't start beating a little faster when she sheds her shirt and jacket, and faster yet when her pants come off.
>You've known each other an awfully long time, and you called each other friends before anything else, but the both of you knew it wasn't quite that simple.
>A thousand reasons had kept you apart, most of them stupid. Fear, mostly, and a appropriate synonyms.
>What if you did try it, and something happened?
>You could date and break up with anyone, 
>But her?
>So you'd gone back and forth like that keeping in touch and enjoying each other's company, even when you were seeing other people.
>But you never really found anyone else like her, and you waited.
>You suppose you were waiting for her to dare you.
>But she never had.
>She slips in beside you though, and as the zipper locks the two of you together, suddenly the fears seem even dumber than usual.
>You're pinned against her, staring into her deep, brown eyes.
>The most honest, loyal eyes you'd ever seen, brilliant in the pale glow of the flashlight.
>A few seconds you wrestle with yourself, but the matter was settled before it began.
>The braver, more optimistic part of you had hoped something would come of this trip, and if you could join the army, you could take the chance.

>"Annie?"
>"Yeah?"
>Her breath is soft and smells faintly of teriyaki jerky.
>"That thing you said, about the stars dancing around each other--"
>Something clicks behind her eyes, and all about you her fur seems to electrify.
>"Shut up. We both know why I said it.
>She grabs your collar and pulls your lips to hers.
>And it's probably a stupid metaphor, but you know what she meant when she said "explode".