Qeya River well, I know what you want from me

The wind does not work to her favour. Among the stench of flesh and blood she smells nothing, only the snow and ice of their river homeland.

But she can see him, a dark stain on white ground. He is easy to sidestep as he barrels forward like a freight train on tracks he cannot escape and at once she is bristling and meeting his jaws with a clash of her own.

"Would dark man rather coyotes steal?" Her voice rumbles through curled lips, taking a step back to drink in his anger. Enjoying this.