Silver Moraine all the world you roam turns you into stone

On her first day of freedom, she makes a mistake; she stays out too long. Typically she's able to find shelter before darkness falls, but as the sun sets, she finds herself among a vast grey emptiness. There's no place to hide — nowhere safe. And as the sun sets, she begins to panic.
Predictably, horribly, night brings danger with it. Darkness settles over the land, and she hears distant keening calls — then not so distant. Coyotes, emboldened by the cloak of night and seeking blood from the lone wolf they've caught alone. It's difficult to make sense of what happens next — bristling and snarling, fangs through fur and the taste and scent of blood, pain and confusion and pitch black all around. It's a horrified haze until suddenly it's over — until the latter of two falls writhing, dying, and the yearling collapses beside it, wounded but not sharing the coyotes' fate.
Exhausted but still conscious, she doesn't move — even as the sun starts to rise and flies start to gather around the dead coyotes, nagging at her by extension.