Perhaps he would fly right off the edge of the world and vanish into the nothing. Perhaps he would fly right into the teeth of a monster. Perhaps he would never come out of the fog. Perhaps he'd die.
Coyote spread his wings and plunged through the swirling wall. Tears streamed from his eyes. No matter what happened, this was the end of the line for him.
He gazed into the heart of oblivion and imagined all that he had lost. All that he had done.
"I'm coming home," he whispered.
Coyote (c) me
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