Coconut Grove [ sorry not sorry ]

She had hypothesized once that crabs would not necessarily die simply when their claws were torn off. Unusual, but it seemed to be in the nature of sea creatures not to bleed the way land creatures did. They were also relatively silent in their anguish- much as Chacal herself tended to be. 

Food was food, though- and death was part of the process. She cracked through the crab's shell and had begun to pull it away bit by bit when a pale whisp of colour swayed in her peripheral vision. With a lift of her dark muzzle she swung her noble face toward the stranger where their curious gazes intertwined. Chacal thumped her tail against the sand and uttered a soft, chirp of a bark in return, sensing that the two were alike in spirit; calm, friendly.