Redsand Canyon the death of orchids

he searched for donovan with increasing ire. merrick was not ashamed that he had fled their last meet; he was enraged that the canyon-dweller had not remained as he was until the murder-need had built and built and —
when he turned the coywolf was no longer alone, and his redcream hackles flared in surprise and anger. stained with the crimson sand, she seemed spun from a lighter version of it, long-eared and ethereal down to the paleness of her eyes.
merrick stared at her a long moment, then began to approach, nostrils flaring to drink the stranger's scent. no sign of the tiger with this one, just the endless dry fragrance of the empty canyon and the prickling odor of plants clinging to her fur. 
her eyes were not pale, they were veiled, cloudy. a curl of his lip, but merrick did not move to strike. "how long have you lived here?"