Sequoia Coast from the ground up

she had called him something, of that he was sure of. but he didn't know just what and was probably better off not knowing in spite how curious he was. it was a weird tongue for a simple creature like him, but she was a weird little wolf. there were a lot of these, he would come to find, at least living along the coast.
what does being a mutt have to do with anything? plenty, he fired back. do you think a pack's gonna want my half-and-half ass? the short answer was no, for more reasons than just his hertiage. if they didn't figure out that he was a coywolf, they just assumed he was a coyote. lakhos had been driven away more times than he cared to count long before here—he assumed it would always be the same.
and i ain't a local, he tacked on. i'm just passing through.
and as though to punctuate that point, he started trudging along across the snowy, wet line of the shore. fuck this nonsense, he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. he could hunt somewhere else, assuming she didn't follow him. but he had a feeling she would because when had anyone ever left him alone?