Sleeping Dragon identity

As she glut herself on the remains, Colt told his story.

She imagined her own confines when he spoke of a canyon. The word itself meant little to her, but she saw in her mind's eye the pit.

Eat or be eaten. A wolf descending in to that pit, for her.
So I ate.
Running, running, running
until all she could taste was copper.

She'd stopped eating to listen to him, frozen by her own thoughts in conjunction with the tale. She felt his eye upon her and dared move her head, snake-like, to meet it with a faraway look of her own.

Then she resumed, peeling meat from bone.