The Wind Walker
There he stood, naked, in the desert. Exhausted. The wind had torn at his body, the sun scorched it, and his feet were covered in blisters. So tired.
The Indians had told him to venture into the desert three days ago, only giving him a special concoction to use once a day. Every time he did the hallucinations reappeared. They were supposed to help him find his inner peace, guided by the spirits of the desert.
Only that was three days ago. He hadn't had anything but the potion to drink since, and even less food. And soon he wouldn't even have that - there was only one swig of the potent hallucinogen left. Lifting the flask to his mouth, he drank deeply.
And then, he saw it. A wolf? A dog?
Are you my spirit animal? the weary traveller asked. And maybe it was the drug, but he swore that the dog shook his head. No, it seemed to say.
The coyote took a big bite out of his flesh. No, I guess you weren't, he thought before closing his eyes. The drug had made him numb. There was no pain.