Whitefish River My name's Blurryface, and I care what you think

She's idly tracking the scent of two coyotes, possessing no intention of confronting the pair but curious at their movements. It's boredom, mainly, that drives this — and it proves rewarding enough when the scent of a wolf mixes into the trail, more faint than the other two. It seems she's not the only one tracking another. She doubts the coyotes' intentions are as benign as her own, however.
Her suspicions are confirmed by the distant sound of fighting as she continues, and instinctively she picks up her pace. She doesn't know what compels her to involve herself; maybe her ridiculous justice complex. She knows herself well enough to admit it, at least. When she catches sight of the three figures in the distance, she breaks into a run, bolting toward the scene with no sign of slowing down. She assesses the situation quickly, choosing her target only moments before she leaps with claws extended. The dark coyote stumbles as she slams into its flank, claws slicing easily through its flesh. The creature yelps and lashes out, forgetting the wolf as it turns to sink its jaws into her. Pain lances through her shoulder and she hisses, swiping the coyote's face and leaving deep gashes. It twists away from her for a moment, blinded and yelping wildly, and she takes the opportunity to retreat with several staggering steps backward. The wound on her shoulder is deep, quickly soaking her front with blood, and already she feels slightly dizzy.