Qeya River well, I know what you want from me

she dares meet him head-on. his jaws snap shut on empty air, teeth grinding in frustration as he whirls to face her again.

tongue lapping furiously at bared teeth as he advances on her, one foot after another. a towering, bristling mass of black fur; crimson eyes glaring down at her past a scarred snout.

coyotes have no concept of claimed lands. he spits. not a very good comparison on her part, he thinks!

what would stop him from ripping her pelt from her flesh now? perhaps his good sense, but still—he was firm in his belief no trespasser should go unharmed.

and she cannot dodge him forever.