The owl’s head turns too far, which is rude and wonderful.

Feathered horns. A hoot like who, which English-speaking brains take as a question and owl brains take as a schedule. Mice under snow. A hunter with quiet wings. Not a claim-walker. Not a miner’s widow. An owl.

The yip in the draw is still not this beak. Coyotes talk in crowds even when they are few. A laugh-yip can people a whole hillside with ghosts if you arrived with a story in your pocket.

Ellis will want Solano’s names. You might want the yip and the prints in the same file, so they cannot pretend to be one walker.

You watch until the owl gets bored of you, which is a compliment. Hunters have schedules. Ghosts in movies do not get bored. Boredom is a living thing’s tell. The yip files itself under not this beak. You file it. Filing is the whole magic trick.