Kids raised on the Native American reservations who find themselves stuck between the traditions and values of their culture and the world around them who don’t understand and tends to misappropriate their history. (IT’S A REALLY OBVIOUS METAPHOR FOR BEING A SHAPESHIFTER AND LIVING IN TWO WORDS BC I’M SHITTY LIKE THAT.)
Asshole teens who grew up on stories of the trickster god Coyote, a popular culture hero that all class ditching, cigarette-smoking-behind-the-creepy-old motel, dreaming-of-bigger-and-better-things underdogs can relate to.
Fiercely loyal to their pack of bike-riding hooligan friends. Hell, they even chipped in to get Alma that sewing machine so she could stitch Coyotes in red embroidery floss to the backs of their older brothers’ leather jackets. It looks really fucking badass and was totally worth getting punched in the arm repeatedly for ‘borrowing’ said jackets without permission.
When weird shit starts happening in their town (I’m talking those inexplicable lights over the desert, the disappearances of town folk) these little shits band together ‘Attack the Block’ style to protect what’s theirs.