Coyote hills

There were city lights spread out at their feet like stolen stars, lights they owned and named and watched under a backlit night sky. They sat high, these two, careless of time, sharing words, stealing moments. She watched his calloused hands tracing fine lines on her palm and wondered how she had ever not been right there, right then. He watched the curve of her fingers over his knuckles and wondered if she would disappear with the sun. And it was easy, there on the edge of so many things, and they wondered why.

When the coyotes began their weird yelping song in the empty hills just behind, she twisted in his arms to look over their shoulders. It shouldn't have been exciting--she should have been afraid of the shadows and the night and the unknown, like she usually was--but with him there, everything changed. Her heart lifted, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, staring into the dark hills, and she was content.