Seaside Moors ii: the fang gang

At the base of the hills, where the grass grows tall and yellow before the soil becomes inhospitable to even the hardiest of shrubs, there is a solitary grey mass half lost in darkness. One of the weathered trees spreads an open palm of branches across a backdrop of dim sky, shrouding the shape below. 

The criss-cross of tapering shadows transform the mass beyond recognition.

A wet breath shudders through it all the same. The hide trembles through the struggle—it would resemble one of the barnacled boulders lodged like loose cuspids in the sand, were it not for the swath of crimson leading away from it.
The sea is licking greedily at a pool further along the beach. As the tide draws this away, the foam deepens to an ugly pink. So far the scavenging sea birds have not taken notice of the grisly mess, but it is only a matter of time.

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Caution: Whump prompt / random event; please tag Maharet if you want her to appear.