Seaside Moors So I've gotten used to coffee sweats

If he had been more mindful of his surroundings, things would've been different. The scent of wolf was an obvious one but at the moment of Niamh's arrival the coywolf was nose-deep in another patch of something, and all he could smell was the salt brine which coated all things. He should've seen the bolt of gold careening towards him, or maybe heard her crunching across the snowy sand, but in that collection of moments Ve'kesh was either too distracted or too inexperienced with the sea so close; he didn't know what was happening until she shouted out a word. At first he thought he heard someone shouting his name, and that sent a chill down his spine — the tribe rarely sent out headhunters and his crime might've been a decent one, but Ve'kesh would've never imagined being so vilified to earn himself a place on a kill list of any kind. His head went up, his ears faced the sound, and he focused on identifying where it came from.

Almost instantly the creature saw the blurry gold figure; it was moving faster than any coyote, with fur the color of an autumn elm that contrasted to an extreme level against the backdrop of greys and blues of the beach. It was hard not to see it coming once he'd leveled his gaze at it; the expression on the wolf's face was something he didn't quite catch, because he was turning and scrambling against the grit of the beach to try and escape. Sand and shells flew out from beneath his narrow paws as he struggled to get a move on, bolting like any panicked creature might in an effort to avoid any ill-intent.

Ve'kesh wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a sneak, although he had some aptitude with cavorting through the darkness. He wasn't built to be a physical creature even though he was larger than most of the coyotes of his tribe (for reasons he never explored). He was devoted to more spiritual pursuits, employing his mind rather than his body. It was rare for him to have to run full-tilt like this, and as he went he thought, 'Foggin' varg! I deedn't do nodding—shooda learn from da headhuntas—foggin' beesh!' His thoughts were inturrupted as he came upon a rocky ledge that led to another section of the beach, one with less sand and more solidity for him to grasp at; feeling briefly elated Ve'kesh focused and picked up speed, heading away from the oceanside and closer to where the grass sprung up.

If he could just make it beyond the tall grassline, to the trees and the bushes that grew beyond all the salt, he knew he could survive this. When he saw the dark bands of plant-life struggling to grow up ahead of him, he felt even better. What came next was a stupid move but he couldn't help it—he turned his head slightly so that his wolf-gold gaze could catch upon his pursuer, and he called out to her boldly: Pa'ku guakun inibag glogzag ashide! Gorou'lrag gulueveum duleakum gloge!

Of course, the poor imbicile of a wolf didn't know what the hell he was saying.