Heron Lake Plateau Isn't that an automatic throw

Something had roused him from his sleep, leaving Raven’s side and the few other mostly-darkish forms that were his children for reasons that he hadn’t quite figured out yet.  Something was off, though.  Things were dark and relatively still, so what had it been?  It was just a still-wintery night as far as he could tell…

Or was it?  As he wound his way away from their snowbound thicket, he heard something else moving up ahead.  The inky alpha slowed his pace, creeping along so that he could sneak up on whatever it was.  Hopefully it’d turn out to just be someone out for a late night snack – it was pretty close to a cache – but that wasn’t going to be the case.  Quixote crested a snowdrift, and in the slight depression in the landscape on the other side, he saw another figure sniffing about in the snow.  A coyote, of course.  A brave as hell one (or just plain stupid), considering how deep into the territory it had voyaged.

He couldn’t tell from here what kind of shape it was in, but he honestly wasn’t going to sit there forever studying it.  Instead he snarled and dove after the other canine, which bolted off with Quixote in pursuit.