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He unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve and folds it back, exposing his wrist all the way, showing Raylan the rest of his tattoo: it’s not a dog, it’s wilder than that. It’s a wolf maybe, but it looks a little too thin, too hungry.
“It’s a coyote,” Tim says. And it's a mean one,Raylan thinks but doesn’t say aloud. Its ears are pushed back flat against its head. Its muzzle is open and pulled back into a grimace, a growl, his tongue lolling dangerously from its sharp teeth. Its paws are long and clawed, its full tail wrapped protectively around itself. It looks ready to bite.
On his way back to Kentucky after a long week chasing a fugitive, Raylan Givens stops at a roadhouse in the middle of nowhere to put his feet up and have a drink or two. Sitting at the bar, he catches the eye of a young ex-soldier, recently returned home from war. Raylan invites him to sit with him awhile, keep him company.