#coyotes in kansas

[bones-n-bookles]

Coyotes in Kansas, by the Kansas State College of Agriculture and Applied Science, 1957

I bought this book used upon seeing it referenced in the coydog section of God's Dog. It did provide a bit more context but not much. I haven't read the rest of it yet, but it looks interesting! Old science on coyotes interests me just as much as up to date science on them.

[lunar-goodness]

Some coyotes just got into a tussle right outside my fuckin window!

[uniqueartisanconnoisseur]

Lodging in Nature in Northeast Kansas!

Have you been to the beautiful countryside of northeast Kansas? This was a new experience for me! Traveling on a press trip hosted by Kansas Tourism‘s Kelsey Wendling, and Colby Sharples-Terry, I headed to the Sunflower State for some fun, fall outdoor adventure! Along the way, we three travel bloggers me, Jamie Ward of Cornfields and Highheels, and Michelle Marine of Simplify Live Love, stayed…

[seeyouspacecoyote]

Wisdom of the day: Anyone can be retarded, water is wet, and when you drop a pencil it'll fall.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

A humble request

I'm reaching out to the community for what may seem like a selfish reason, but something in my heart says that I gotta try. Asking for help is better than wallowing in sorrow.

My birthday is coming up next month, July 15. With the way things are going, this will probably be my first birthday spent alone, or at least, without mom (Unless things change radically, she won't be home by then or likely any time within the next few months) Now you gotta understand, I was born a year after my mom lost a child due to a deformity that is so severe and so rare, the baby never survives or makes it to birth. She wanted me badly, and while I struggle with that some days....I know I mean a lot to her.

Mom cared so much that she ALWAYS made Christmas and birthday special. She would fulfill my lists if she had the money (as I got older I grew guilty, and would often ask for less as years went on) and she always made sure I got something I wanted. Many times she would surprise me with gifts I didn't even know I wanted. Last Christmas, it was a beautiful coyote pelt. Do ya'll remember the btas scarecrow cake, or the handmade cupcakes with the fear symbol? She made those happen. She even paid to fly my brother (my hero) from Seattle to Kansas City for an event while I was taking classes at KCAI

I...don't think, unless dad gets me something, which he hinted he would but....I wont have that "special" surprise gift from mom. I could live without my amazon wish list, that's whatever. it's the way she always made that day matter that I'm going to miss. I'm crying typing this...

So, that's why I'd like to ask something of the rogues fandom

Could the artists, writers, crafters, creatives....come together and make sure that day isn't miserable? I'm not lying when I say I can count on my finger the days I've gone without crying or breaking down in someway since March. To put it bluntly and selfishly, I'm asking for some art, maybe a doodle of jon (or dm me for other characters I like!) or a little drabble about a headcanon I like. I wanna wake up on the 15th with my inbox full of love. I'm not asking for you to slave over photoshop for hours, but just something simple to make the day less depressing. When I told ya'll about my bad day and asked for positive messages, I woke up the next day with 20+ of them. That meant so much.

And all I want is to spend my birthday happy, and not in tears.

I'm sorry to sound so greedy....but y'all have shown me many times over, that internet strangers can show the most amazing amount love and care. And honestly, gift art would matter way more than physical things. Every single time you guys make me something, I save it to a gift art folder on my computer. I save every single thing.

[feathersandspurs]

Corythosaurus concepts. Based around an Okapi, these hadrosaurs are mostly raised domestically to eventually be ridden by ranchers(although they can only run about 30 mph, they help discourage stragglers due to their size and fend off smaller predators like coyotes, wolves, and Dryptosaurs) or to be used for food(Sauro Steaks). A few wild herds exist near Kansas and Nebraska, but the vast majority are ‘domestic’ and raised on farmland alongside livestock. These are considered prized livestock and are often targeted by cattle thieves. Occasionally the males are entered into local fairs to win prizes(judged by the rich colors in their crest and the sharpness of the markings on their legs).

[livinglycan]

☽ ~ The sand shifts beneath your paws and the scent of salt fills your nostrils ~ 𓃥

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ "𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍, 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍" ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Ello!! You can call me Theo, Ari, or Feng! I'm transmasc and my pronouns are He/It/That + any dog or (were)wolf related neos! I'm (feralromantic) aroallo, MLM/Gay, wolfdog freak, and objectum.

Feralromantic and wolfdog freak are both coins termed by me!

I am a werewolf. This is not a kintype, I am physically a werewolf. I’ll still post under the werewolfkin tags because I feel like werewolfkin can relate to my experience. I am a therian and otherkin but stuff relating to that can be found on my main blog, @confused-canid where I interact from. I appreciate the use of tone tags for me!

This blog is for me posting about me being a werewolf, or werewolf related things! This could be my selfships, art writings, etc.! My tags are: #Running with the wolves🐺 - Talking with my mutuals! #Howling at the moon🌕 - Original posts that are text! #Weird little claw marks✏️ - My art! This will usually be paired with text so it will be tagged as #Howling at the moon🌕 and as #Weird little claw marks✏️! #yapping back🌙 - Responding to asks! #Tasty posts🦴 - reblogs relating to this blog but not therian related or my own (usually used for posts I’m saving for later), #Rabies🥩 - Gore, animal death, angry stuff, and other things that make me hungry, #Home🌲 - Heart-home (Vancouver island) stuff, #Mother🏹🦌 - Artemis worship related things, #Little wolf🐾 - Agere posts (rbs and original ones

Theriotypes:

~Harlequin great Dane

~Bottlenose dolphin

~Western coyote (unsure what type but one that lives in or near Kansas, prairie dwelling)

~Leopard seal

~ Rocky mountain Bighorn sheep

Kintypes:

~Merfolk

~Two legged dragon

~Marble fox Kitsune

Others:

~Equidae clado hearted

~Changeling holothere

~ Lemon shork (Kaiju paradise)

~ Like slime pup (Kaiju paradise)

~ Nightcrawler (Kaiju paradise)

~ Chocolate sprinklekit (Kaiju paradise)

~ Lockheed SR-71 blackbird

DNI: Basic DNI criteria+, NSFW blog, make a lot of nsfw posts about werewolves, Radqueer, RCTA, Proship or any variants of it, Demonizes cluster B disorders or delusions/are an ableist, Zionist/pro Israel (Get tf off my blog. Seriously. Like, leave right now. I will maul you.), antikin, fakeclaimer, anti researched self diagnoses, pro Trump, pro Biden (Trump is bad and so is Joe. He is directly funding the genocide against Palestine.), anti ACAB, Pro contact for harmful paras (People w/ big 3 and other harmful (if acted on) paras can interact but don’t go against the rest of my DNI. I hope you can recover, I'm proud of you. You can do this.), anti atypical dysphoria, or are here to debate me about my identity.

Anyways, bye creatures!

Last updated July Fith 2024

I live in the central daylight timezone / CT, in case you want to talk

a lot of this was just to show off these dividers

^silly little werewolf gif collage ^^

[warnersister]

Chapter 1 - The Return to Miramar

The Highwayman Series | Prologue | Chapter 2

‘No Entry – Construction (TRANSATLANTIC RAILWAY DUE TO FINISH 1869)’ the sign read and the frontman on his horse creased his brows into a tight and questioning line. “1869? But its 1863.” He said, voice in a questioning tone. “haven’t you heard?” his companion asked “east and west are racing to see who can build the most. Gonna be shut a while” he said matter of factly, while straightening out his mustache from where the Tennessee heat had frazzled it. The former grunted in response “this is our way though” “well were gonna have to go a different way hangman, don’t fancy getting Spitfire killed by a train” the other told him, motioning to the fine mare he was riding on. He nodded “yeah hornets too young for that, rooster you’re right. You know a different way?” hangman asked. Rooster thought for a minute, straightening out his mustache again, already bunching up under the springtime humidity – but this time, more in thought than in maintenance as he turned to look at his surroundings “already crossed Mississippi” he said, remembering when they’d crossed the mighty river – not wishing to back track on that path. “were gonna have to go the whole way round, through missouri – Kansas, take a left at colorado” “could we not go trough Texas?” Hangman asked, thinking of a shorter route they used to traverse a decade prior. Rooster raised his brows “aint Sherrif Simpson still after us?” he asked and his friend shrugged. “Already told the rest of ‘em to meet us in Louisiana and it’ll take weeks, months to get there if not, were good as dead if the Indians aint as hospitable again” there was silence for a minute “plus you’ve got a stache now and I’ve got this sweet bod, he wont recognise us” Hangman said, flexing while Rooster threw his head back and laughed loudly “bod ain’t as good as mine, bagman” Rooster said and the other shook his head “c’mon. Texas it is."

This route was fresh, recognisable but still; new-(ish). There were plenty of structures that were erected since they’d last abided there, especially in the Plains – a substantially belittled number of natives and much more Easterns who you could tell had no business being in Western heat – searching for green grass but getting tumble weeds in lieu. They’d reached their meeting point but a week later, reconsiliating with Coyote and Bob who’d been engaging in business up in the rockies, taking the strongest horses but only returning with one. “Hercules?” Hangman asked and bob shook his head “struggled all the way up, slipped, poor boy couldn’t handle it. Was cryin’ in the night he was. Had’a put him out o’ his misery” the four all bowed their heads and shook them in remembrance for their fallen companion. “damn” rooster said. “Well there's no way the two of ya can manage all the way to New Mexico on Chinook, let alone California” Hangman said. “we passed a ranch on the way down here in northern Texas, town called Miramar” Bob told him as Rooster and Hangman shared a look. “Ain’t that where we nearly got hung?” Rooster asked “sure is Brad.” Hangman thought for a moment “Good mares?” Hangman asked “the best” coyote said “young lady an’all. Mighty fine on the eyes” “guess we’re heading up North.”

The ride was slightly awkward with Coyote and Bob both on one horse, they changed primary rider every hundred or so miles – and it made it easier to travel at night, but still; a man wanted his own horse and Coyote was proud of Chinook, but the horse was starting to weary with some three hundred pounds on his back. But eventually they saw the sign. White lettering and red background, carved so deeply into old mahogany and almost illegible, but it was undeniably so: Miramar. So close you could almost make out Oklahoma, but far enough away and enough Stetsons present to recognise the contrast between what was and what wasn’t Texan territory. “where’s this ranch of yours, Bob?” Jake asked, swallowing harshly as he eyed the infamous town over his sunglasses; Bob pointed straight ahead, and adjacent to the Sheriff’s office, was an unassuming parlour attacked to a decently sized acreage of farm, a good seven or eight horses feeding off their dinner. “alright. Let’s get in and get out.” Jake said, instructing his horse to move forward as he did so. “you guys got history here or something?” Javy asked and rooster snorted “yeah something like that” “what happened?” Bob asked “lets just say he had a thing for the Sherrif’s daughter and he organised to hang him if he didn’t get out of town.” Rooster explained, recalling the events from what seemed like yesterday. Jake cleared his way as a way to get the lot of them to shut up. He still had the ring he was going to give her in his breast pocket.

They drew a lot of attention as they rode through town – strangers clearly dressed in travelling attire. But they were the Highwaymen, not pilgrims. Coyote hopped off the back of Chinook and Bob followed suit, heading to the girl who had their back turned to them, currently attending to a young pony who seemed to refuse to leave the refuge of her stables. “Excuse me, ma’am – any of these horses for sale?” “Uh huh the lot of ‘em” she’d replied, turning to the strangers to greet them as customers. Jake felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “jake?” “hey, petal” he replied, unable to muster anything else as he looked at you, still as mighty fine if not more gorgeous than he day he’d hit the road with rooster. You looked to his left and nodded “Brad” “hey pretty” after the short and unsweetened reunion. “Y’all should get off my ranch. My daddy still has a right mind lynchin’ the two of ya” you say smally, turning to reattend to the horse. “Still?” Rooster asked with a smirk but Jake was taking it more seriously as you nodded your head to the stocks “meaner than the day you left” “sweetheart-“ “I aint talkin to you, Jake” you say and look at your feet “look, my horse passed in the rockies; was hopin’ I could but a new ‘un to get us to California. Got any up for the job?” Bob asked and you looked at him. “Uh, we got a few. Albatros is gorgeous and strong, but I don’t think she’ll last ‘till Cali.” You place your hands on your hips, surverying the pack “Falcon, he’ll get you there but no further.” You say “that there” you point at the strong, pale coloured horse in the back of the field “Lightning. God he can ride, got the strength of Zeus. He’ll get you there, hell he’ll get you through Mexico and back. But he’s my favourite, he’s gonna cost ya” Jake smiled “God he was just a young’un a few years back. My, he's grown” he says, recalling the day he’d gifted you the horse. He’d saved up all his money, didn’t even steal him, brought him all the way from New Mexico. Didn’t even ride him, he walked on foot – made sure the mare had his breaks and god your smile when you accepted him. His hair matched Jakes, so he’d always be there when he wasn’t. “You’re willing to sell him? After all this time?” you finally look at him, pain apparent in your eyes “you left, Seresin” that hurt “you bought him as a reminder. Don’t need no reminder of you, boy” you say “well ‘m here now-“ “exactly.” You cut him off and there is a silence.

“How much for Lightning?” Bob asked after a while. “Make me an offer.”

Prologue | Chapter 2

[roamwithahungryheart]

*Hands you a box of biscuits* Hello, do you have a moment to talk about THE PARALLELS?

In 3x06, Rebecca is no longer thinking about Tish's predictions, and yet they all seem to be laid out right in front of her when she meets the Dutch boatman. Or are they? Is the Dutch boatman a placeholder, a transitional person who's showing her exactly the things she's been looking for, but missed all the signs along the way...until now?

Something clicked when I noticed the small model plane on the shelf in the houseboat. There are several parallels with 1x02 'Biscuits'.

Posting under the cut!

The focus on tea in 3x06 just as there was in 1x02

In 1x02, Ted tells Rebecca ‘we can't really be good partners unless we get to know each other, right?’ Rebecca & the Dutch boatman know almost nothing about each other and they seem happy to keep it that way.

Ted talking about being a fan of ‘The Gambler himself, Kenny Rogers’ in 1x02 & the Dutch version of the Kenny Rogers song playing on the houseboat. Dutch Boatman calls him ‘the gambling man’ but doesn't care much for his music.

Ted's homemade biscuits & giving them to Rebecca with the matchbox army man in 1x02. Dutch Boatman, a military vet, making a meal for Rebecca.

‘Got a small battalion of army men. Says here on the card that I'm supposed to set 'em up in my apartment to help keep me safe.’ 1x02. GEZELLIG.

Ted & Beard mention Taz in 1x02, Ted sends Rebecca a GIF of Wile E. Coyote from the 1991 series Taz-Mania. We all know the significance of 1991.

BARBECUE SAUCE - ‘You got some kind of food or something that can teleport you back home, make you feel warm and fuzzy?’ In 3x06, Ted’s ‘trip’ teleports him back to Kansas. Gezellig is about feeling warm & fuzzy. The lighting on the houseboat is soft & warm. Rebecca herself softens in this episode. Back on the coach, she looks at Ted in a way that connotes ease, comfort & warmth. They both look at each other that way for a moment.

In the end, it all leads back to Ted.

[just-pot-over-here]

TW character death, disease

i come back once every six months to drop an AU and leave. this is entirely inspired by this mitski song btw (EDIT: @ill-say-anything-i-hafta has informed me that this is a Peet Seeger song that mitski covered!!)

jack leaves for Santa Fe after the strike. whether because he and kath break up, or because he decides he actually can’t stand manhattan, it doesn’t really matter. what does matter is that he brings crutchie with him.

they make it on the NYCentral railroad up to chicago, at which point they need to start walking. this would be a problem, except jack has enough money from his shiny new job to buy a horse and two packs, and he figures that not much can go wrong. and for a couple of weeks he’s right!

the problem is, they’re two kids who’ve never left New York trying to walk from Illinois to new mexico. they’re not exactly survivalists here. they’re drinking out of rivers and eating stale/mouldy bread and jerky. something’s gotta go wrong, and unfortunately it goes wrong for crutchie.

typhoid fever is a killer, and crutchie’s not lucky enough to beat two deadly plagues. jack has to bury his little brother somewhere in between Oklahoma and Kansas.

jack makes it to santa fe, but he leaves a piece of himself in the ground 900 miles away, placemarked with a crude branch cross.

needed to get this out of my BRAIN

[thinkblotted]

Rabbit Pie

Somewhere in Kansas, 1933.

-

Notes for this: To 'chisel' is to work an angle, or get something from someone. A 'pip' is someone who's very fun and attractive.

Art at the bottom by the wonderful and talented @berd-alert -3-

Mr. Brown had a heart condition. The doctors told him so and they said that without medicine, it would only worsen. But what was a fellow to do? He had a home to keep, chores to do, money to make as long as he could make it. No sons or daughters - still living, anyway - and no young neighbors close by to lend a helping hand with the daily work.

He was alone. 

Under the trees of the woods, long shadows deepened the gathering darkness of the vanishing twilight. The sky above, in the spaces between trees, the sky shone in dark periwinkle purples and blues. The few stars just beginning to show passed in and out through the leaves and branches.

Mr. Brown’s chest hurt, tightened as he wheezed. His hips ached, bone against bone as he ran. His eyes blurred as he tried to find the edge of the woods, where the trees met the fields of grain. His hands clutched at the Winchester, heavy in his arms, but he dare not let it drop. 

A branch behind him creaked, then broke with a twisting pop and Mr. Brown panted as he tried to push his old legs faster still. 

The trees were petering out. He could see the light, scarce as it was, between them. 

Behind, the pounding of feet on the ground. The sound of paws. 

Mr. Brown clutched at the rifle, trigger guard and wood slick under his clammy hands. He finally breached the line of the woods, stumbling, staggering out into the open. 

He shoved his way into the swaying mass of wheat before him. Almost a quarter of a mile it stretched on, up to the gentle slope of the hill to the house and the barnyard, tiny in the distance. Under the last of the fading light of the sun, and the rising, orange moon, it looked like a lake of white gold. Hushing gently in the evening breeze. 

Mr. Brown stood surrounded by it, catching what little breath he could. He stared into the blackness between the trees of the woods. 

Something darted between them. 

Mr. Brown lost his breath, and with a hand shaking almost too hard to hold onto the thing, he cocked the gun. The action clicked in his ears like lightning in the silence of the open field. 

His chest was stabbing, his lungs trying to draw in more air that just wouldn’t come. 

He’d gone out looking for coyotes. Three chickens, gone to the vermin two weeks go. One week ago, it had been his milking goat. Last night, a cow of the four he owned had been missing from the pen before he’d locked the others up for the evening. He’d spent a good hour looking and calling for her, before finding her in a shallow ditch by the long gravel road. Poor girl had been absolutely mauled. Her throat savaged to a red pulp, torn hide from long claws, eyes rolled back, looking like a leg had been broken in the struggle. 

Mr. Brown’s hands on his gun had been shaking in rage, then. Oh, sure, the government and wildlife protection’s boys could hem and haw about protecting animals, but Mr. Brown had a farmstead to keep running and had just lost hundreds of dollars in livestock. 

He was going to rid himself of some pests. 

Mr. Brown hadn’t found any coyotes. The woods had been silent as he’d strolled through it. The kind of silent that made something in the back of his head wonder just how much the other animals knew, that he didn’t. 

He supposes he knew now. 

The moon was almost fully in the sky now, the rust of it deep and turning the wheat around him dark gold, ruddy under its wan light. The sky was dark. 

The woods were darker. 

Mr. Brown held the rifle up with weak arms, feeling his pulse in his ears, straining in his neck. His vision was going, but he dared not try and do more than blink away the sweat gathering at his brow. He waited. 

The wind sighed above him, through the woods, through the field. 

A figure stood between the trees. 

Mr. Brown fired.

-

”On the farm, ev'ry Friday

On the farm, it's rabbit pie day.

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along

I get up early and sing this little song.”

Jasper hummed along to the music crackling out from the record player, swaying along to the jaunty tune. It was one of the first things he’d seen as they’d come into the house, and had gone right for. 

At least Dwayne’d had the sense to make sure his hands were clean before handling the delicate records. 

David busied himself unloading the Winchester, catching the rounds as they’d popped out. He placed each back into the little paper carton he’d found on a shelf in the kitchen, and then stood to put that back in its place. The rifle he kept in his arms for a moment, admiring the black metal, the warm, walnut wood stock. It was a much newer model than the ones he’d been familiar with, the action fast, holding a whole nine rounds before needing to fully reload again. 

David flexed his right arm, working out the tension still in the re-knitting muscles where two of those rounds had hit, the ache the only thing left of them. 

“David!” 

Suddenly, David was being grabbed by his hands, the gun clattering to the floor as his grip became much more preoccupied. Jasper slotted his fingers between David’s and began spinning them around. He laughed at David’s expression. 

”Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!”

Jasper sang along to the music, pulling David in close. Dwayne, the traitor, simply watched with a raised eyebrow. 

David managed to get his feet under him and matched his mate’s movements. “You’re chiseling, ain’t ‘cha,” David drawled, trying his best to keep his expression stony. 

Jasper shrugged, the epitome of unconcerned. “I don’t mind where Max put us up, but it would be nice to have a real roof over our heads for a week or two. Might as well enjoy everything the place has to offer.” 

He then leaned in, nose to David’s ear, his voice a rasp.

 “And a bed makes a much nicer place to have a lie-down after a nip or two.” 

Dwayne snorted from his seat on the table, feeling just what sung through the bond no matter how quiet Jasper whispered, and David couldn’t tamp down a grin of his own any longer. He leaned into Jasper’s jovial swinging, taking the lead now with a hand on his mate’s back. 

“Well go on, you pip. Let’s enjoy everything.” 

Dwayne stood and moved towards the kitchen, likely to find them something to drink. Something to burn in the throat the way the blood burned in their stomachs. David twirled his boy around, letting the music lead them. 

”Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun!

So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, run!”

[tigerdrachin]

ANIMAL AU LIST

Alabama - black bear

Alaska - Moose

Arizona - Ring-tailed Cat

Arkansas - Mockingbird

California - Brown bear

Colorado - Mountain Goat

Connecticut - Grey Wolf

Delaware - Grey Fox

Florida - Alligator

Georgia - North Atlantic right Whale

Hawaii - Hawaiian monk seal

Idaho - Idaho Giant salamander

Illinois - Northern Cardinal

Indiana - Say's Firefly

Iowa - Hog/pig

Kansas - Western meadowlark

Kentucky - Appaloosa (Horse)

Louisiana - Pelican

Maine - Maine coon

Maryland - Crab

Massachusetts - Tabby Cat

Michigan - White tailed deer

Minnesota - Common loon

Mississippi - Red fox

Missouri - Missouri Mule

Montana - Mourning cloak butterfly

Nebraska - Skunk

Nevada - Vivid Dancer damselfly

New Hampshire - Red tailed hawk

New Jersey - Fruit bat

New Mexico - New Mexico whiptail lizard

New York - Mouse

North Carolina - plott hound

North Dakota - nokota Pike (Horse)

Ohio - buckeye chuck

Oklahoma - Scissor-tailed flycatcher

Oregon - beaver

Pennsylvania - eagle

Rhode Island - Rhode Island red chicken

South Carolina - wood duck

South Dakota - coyote

Tennessee - Tennessee walking horse

Texas - Texas Longhorn

Utah - Bee

Vermont - Labrador

Virginia - Virginia Opossum

Washington - Olympic Marmot

West Virginia - Moth

Wisconsin - American Badger

Wyoming - Bison

D.C. - wood thrush

Gov - Snake

CDC - Dove

ITS DONE FINALLY AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

[beloveddawn-blog]

Tribune

I missed this year's Self Insert Week because it didn't cross my dash again and I've got a shit sense of time, but I still wanted to post this.

<<*>>

They must be on a quest.

There was no two ways about it. They had Arrived. That meant they were questers. For all that Tribune did technically appear on the earthly maps, it was Not Quite Of This World. They must be on a quest.

And not just for a map.

They rolled into town, as questers do. Years back it had been on foot, horseback, or occasionally carriage, but nowadays even questers had vehicles. The gas station had been the first modern convenience to be added.

They went first to the Tourist Information Center. No one ever went to the Tourist Information Center! The old wise man who had demanded it be built had usually dispensed his knowledge on a street corner. Of course he always knew how to get to where the questers wanted to go or needed to be, but he’d also offer hints and give out personal advice with an enigmatic expression that unsettled as much as it comforted. He had insisted that the building be constructed, the sign put up. Then he had registered himself as the manager and begun collecting a government paycheque.

He had called it his retirement job. He had ordered a computer and Charmed the State into running an internet cable to the building by leaning heavily on the fact that City Hall was next door. He’d promptly fallen in love with youtube, pirated every movie and song he could get his hands on, and begun posting about his own cat.

No one ever went to the Tourist Information Center.

Not since he’d died.

They hadn’t told the state he was dead, of course. Peacefully, without pain, surrounded by his family and comforted by his familiar. But a paycheque was a paycheque, and no part questing paid well. Occasionally a particularly lucky hero would become rich, but it usually wasn’t permanent. And none of it trickled back down to those who had set the quester on their path. They were a distant memory by then, not someone a quester would bother to remember.

These two, however…

They had gone to the Tourist Information Center. They had gone to the Tourist Information Center! And not even on the advice of the mystic! The warrior had decided it herself!

The Questgiver working at City Hall had hurried over, awash with curiosity. A quick misdirect insisting that the manager and his assistant were out of town on official business had worked wonders, and she quickly got down to business. Did they wish to know the whereabouts of the Enchanted Grove? Were they looking for the Field of Life or the Well of Dark? Did they wish to harness the tornados or slay the White Coyote? Why were they here, of all places? Surely they already knew their quest and needed only some direction. Surely…

“Do you have a roadmap of the State?” The warrior asked, direct yet polite. “My GPS doesn’t zoom out far enough to be helpful in plotting our next stop.”

The mystic glanced around curiously, the first person to ever inspect pamphlets. The Questgiver blinked. “A roadmap?”

The warrior smiled, a charm even without magic. “Yeah. Kansas was a bit of an impulse, so I didn’t think to try and get one in Kingsman.”

Kingsman… Arizona? So far? Kingsman was its own quest center, though a much more earthly one. It was a hub for the old Route 66, which had its own way of warping a journey. They usually didn’t interact with them much. She made a quick decision to nip out to her car and call the Questgiver there. Surely he had sent these two to her with a plan in mind? 

She blinked, staring down at her phone where it rested on the steering wheel. She had the number for the Kingsman Tourist Information Center (a much busier one than their own, even advertising their ‘passport to adventure’) pulled up and she needed to ask them… needed to… Find a map. That’s right. The Questers wanted a map. She could do that.

She opened the glovebox. There is was! A map of  Kansas that she had gotten… gotten… On her own vacation? Yes, that must have been it. A simple map she had gotten for her own trip to… wherever it had been. It would do. She didn’t leave Tribune often (never? But then why would she have a map?) and wouldn’t miss it.

The Questers could have this map.

She still didn’t know what they were doing in town, but it didn’t bother her much. She directed them over to Karen’s Antiques for a meal and let them be. They would find what they needed there, she was sure of it. That was the point of it.

*

Karen peered curiously at the two exploring her store. They were questers, for sure, but surprisingly undirected ones. They insisted several times that they didn’t need help finding something, and stopped at items only for aesthetic reasons. They didn’t touch anything.

They didn’t touch anything.

That… Wasn’t the point of the store. They got their burgers and were delighted, but that… still wasn’t actually the point of the store. They didn’t seem to want anything but honest, simple food. It was bizarre. It was baffling. It was… It was… Exactly what they had been looking for for centuries, actually.

Could it be?

Karen took a chance. If they weren’t who she thought they might be, the sword would know. It had its own ways of testing Questers, and its own ways of deterring those unworthy.

They thought it was gorgeous. To be fair, the sword was. It looked just like one would expect an enchanted sword of legend to look, all gems and mystical beasts and arcane sigils all over the handle, and a clean, sharp, strong tang. They both tried it, and the sword gloried in it. For all it demanded attention and care from the folk of Tribune, it never permitted them to wave it about and laugh as these two did. It accepted both of them, and Karen glowed with pride. They had fulfilled their sacred trust, and it was her that had found them! Those capable of wielding the Sword!

She was shocked when they put it back. Her dismay echoed back from the sword itself, and even the warrior’s slightly covetous last caress didn’t dispel it. “You don’t want it?” She burst out, unable to help herself.

They laughed, but it was a joyous sound rather than a cruel one. “Oh no,” The warrior giggled, glancing at her friend in a way that spoke of an old understanding. “If we can’t fit a shuttlecraft in the car, we can’t really bring a sword, either.”

“It would never make it through airport security.” The mystic agreed, nodding. “And it would be such a faff to try and ship it.”

Karen blinked. Such a very pragmatic reason… “You… are not from this country?”

The warrior smiled again. “Nope. I’m actually Canadian, but I’m going to be moving to London this fall. Jemma here just is British, though. My Dad actually would probably be pretty cool about storing a sword for me, but who knows when I’ll be able to actually have it with me. It could be years.”

The mystic nodded and rolled her eyes. “I’ve got enough stuff squirrelled away in various houses and garages across the country. I don’t need to add a sword to it. What if it got rusty?”

Karen was torn. On the one hand, the sword was notoriously difficult to please. Even people who arrived looking for it never left with it. On the other… Questers were notoriously stubborn, and neither of these looked like ones to cave to a hard sell. Eventually she backed down, even if ungraciously. “If you’re sure, then.” In her mind the sword howled forlornly.

“Do you have any postcards?” The mystic redirected. “I’d love to have one for my journal.”

“This way.” Karen allowed, ushering them back to the front. There the mystic looked critically over the postcards while the warrior poked curiously around at the small items near the till.

“Ooh! Ooh! Look at this!” The joy in the voice echoed through her mind, alerting Karen that the sword had another plot in mind. She glanced over at the warrior holding… a tiny replica of the sword in its sheath. She proudly showed it to her friend. “It’s got a matching hair stick! It was in with the others over there!”

“It’s so cuuuute!” The mystic squeed, taking it from the warrior’s hand. “Are you going to buy it?”

“If you don’t want it.” She allowed. “You’ve got like three times as much hair as I do. I’ll look better in your hair and you’re much less likely to lose it.”

“How much is it?”

“Ten bucks.”

“Five for you.” Karen blurted, causing both of them to look at her. She blushed lightly. “You liked the large one so much, it was a true pleasure to show it to you. I think you should have this one. I know you’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll take it.” The mystic declared, putting it and the postcard she’d chosen on the counter.

The sword purred, obviously pleased with itself.

[beesmygod]

My state (Kansas) has 1.5 unique cryptids (there's Bigfoot and stuff too)- "The Beaman", an escaped gorilla/wolf or coyote walking on 2 legs is owned by all of Kansas City so only half ours, and the other is "Sinkhole Sam" where the legend goes that after they drained a lake there were 2 sinkholes under it and 2 hunters saw a large snake come out of one of them. It's said to be vegetarian and to be the last/one of an extinct species, the "Foopengerkle". Whatever that is.

What you may notice is these cryptids suck but Sinkhole Sam is really funny, so.

hmmmm. well. i love sinkhole sam. i support him

[nonooddo]

Do you Want to KNOW what the Developer is After...?

If it's not obvious to you yet - the developer is trying to steal our lake. That means to say - his 'penthouse' tenants (and others) will have an 'above the tree line' view right over the full length of Shadow Lake.

The serenity, the dark and quiet that affords our abundant wildlife refuge, all that will be GONE..!

We have a pair of Bald Eagles that live, nest and hunt seasonally on the lake. We have Golden Eagles that regularly hunt the sky over the lake. We have otter, geese, foxes, beaver all inhabiting the lake.

To quote from one resident's letter of objection to the ODDO hideous development: "The commitment and ability to experience nature in the neighborhood is a key characteristic. In and around our own wooded backyard and the on the trails of Cedar Creek (often both and I have photos of most to prove it) we have seen deer, foxes, raccoons, turkeys, bobcats, coyotes, woodchuck, possums etc. In fact, just this morning I saw 6 – 7 deer below the dam along the trail around Shadow Lake. I normally hike around the lake on 5 days a week.  In addition, on the water at the lake, waterfowl, including various ducks, geese and even occasionally (until recently endangered) Trumpeter Swans. I have seen beaver, muskrat and even river otters. Probably most spectacular, is that a pair of eagles often can be seen flying over the lake or perched in one of the large hardwood forest trees over the lake. Where else in Western Johnson County can you find a neighborhood whose commitment and “character” so embody this blending of homes and nature and the ensuing results? I have also heard that from a flora perspective, the woods around Cedar Creek are particularly diverse and healthy and certain plantings from Cedar Creek have been used to supplement other woods like those around Ernie Miller Nature Center."

Eloquently and accurately put. And just how much of that will be lost or irreparably damaged by the tower block construction and occupation that creates noise of blasting as it goes up and light, noise and visual blight (not to mention wind tunnel effect and storm runoff after its up) as it is occupied.

What this developer wants to steal is also being stolen from Olathe, Johnson County and from Kansas.

The City of Olathe MUST reject this insensitive, oversized, out of character, out of place, intensive overbuild plan.