Coconut Grove [ sorry not sorry ]

Windswept and travel-worn, Chacal had begun to make the long trek up the coast toward the dark, jagged cliffs in the distance where she hoped her mothers still lived. Since emerging from the cool ocean waters, she had spied the closest peak and had wound her way to the top taking as many switchbacks as possible to avoid straining her limbs. With her internal compass now set, she felt she could finally begin to find her way back home. 

For Chacal, the beach was a comfort. Her pawpads had become rough to withstand the heat of sand and the grittiness of its texture. She was streamlined to cut through buffeting waves, and the salt of the waters dried in her pelt, giving her a somewhat dusted halo. 

She knew the beach to be merciful occasionally, and present a buffet to any keen scavenger. Hungry for something to tide her over for the next few hours she scavenged along the tideline and down to where the waves still soaked the shore. Here, the floatsom would be freshest- and a crab scuttling through the shallows became her first victim. 

She'd not learned, in her travels, to be any more wary while travelling alone than she'd ever been. If anything, she'd become more confident, being out on her own. And so, she did not see the pale moonbeam of a wolf who skirted the shore, sticking closer to the palms. What she wanted was the greenish crab- so she dashed into the shallows after it. She bounded this way and that as the crab shook its terrible claws at her, pincers raised to fend her off- but a piece of driftwood offered at just the right moment gave it something to grab onto. Fooled, the crustacean latched onto the soft, beige stick, and was then plucked out of the water and carried to shore. 

Triumphantly, Chacal settled down, and made quick work of tearing both pincers off the crab so she wouldn't get nipped. One claw still grasped the driftwood stick tightly, as she began to crack through the shell to get at the delicate meat inside.