He went back three times. Each time, he told himself: This time I’ll control it. And each time, the fire water controlled him—until the stars turned into needles, and his own howl sounded like a stranger.

Finally, on the fourth morning, Coyote buried the gourd and sang a quiet song: “I stole the flame for warmth and light. I stole the water to feel bright. But fire in the belly burns the soul. And too much bright will leave you coal.” Then he walked away, limping a little, and never stole fire water again.

Coyote was hungry for more .

Badger just blinked.

But Coyote, clever and crooked as a juniper branch, had other plans.

“Ha!” he howled. “I am the smartest creature in all directions!”