While departure from the pups had not been an easy decision, he didn't deny the pressure off his chest that followed leaving; remaining within the human-touched building did little but serrate already frazzled nerves.

In the same vein, he is unused to wandering nature. It feels kind in a manner he doesn't think suits him; quiet, gentle.

He navigates about grasses with attentive twitches of ears until a peculiarity among the heather catches his attention. He looks, and stops. Coyote initially thinks to turn and leave but if he's noticed her then, undoubtedly, she's noticed him. "Perdón, chica," (Sorry, girl,) he says, shaking his head as though already dismissing himself. "Did not mean to interrupt your, ah, singing? I am just," and then he lifts a great paw to gesture. "Going through. Mean no trouble."

She's a small thing and like all those he's met before, he anticipates her to nod and await his departure, therefore he finds himself uncertain when he is not turned away. Coyote opens his mouth to speak but she is faster than him, wordier, and he feels a bit at her mercy.

Her approach sees him taking a step back, chin tucked to his chest so that he may look down. "Liss, yes? I, ah—" and she continues on with a thrum of awe. Their proximity uneases him as warmth clings at his face but it is in this closing of space that he scents a familiar note on the wind.

On her.

Why is everyone he meets pregnant?

"I did not, I would not," he tells her. "Men did." Coyote is not unkind when he says this, voice lacking the sternness it might otherwise hold with another, but it is flat—unamused. It is nothing to be intrigued by. "You call me Coyote."

He steps aside then, hoping to earn some distance. "Stories? Maybe. I don't know. What makes a story?" Coyote looks around them then, searching for Mintaka and forcing himself to settle when he doesn't find her. His tail twitches. "Camhanaich, this is pack? Not good being far like you are. I know that."

Coyote stares at her all slack-jawed as she begins and... Ah, never seems to end. He tries to interject, he really does. Almost too puzzled for the likes of discomfort to remain in his chest. "I - no, men said this my name, not me," he clarifies the best he knows how to with what little room she provides but the topic lingers only as long as her tongue chooses. Stories now. "An...Anvil? What is this?"

Story again! This time with a cadence that pins his ears back against his skull with a pang of deepening bewilderment. A star, he thinks. Why would a star be here? How? Why did she not elaborate on this?

Another story!

And by now he's beginning to sink, captive audience, with every new word another inch is gained to bring him closer to the dirt. "Owl? Why for owl all that," Coyote's haunches thump against the ground now. He concedes. He folds! He is so taken aback by the very nature of this wolf that he can only stare in her direction with a strange attentiveness to him.

There is, in slowly budded succession, a faint endearment. Liss is encantador (charming) in the way sweet things typically are. For this, he's uncertain how to deny her continuance, so he does not. Coyote only takes in the brief quiet before he speaks, "I don't doubt that, chica, with teeth like those you are well," he offers a smile that's softer than he intends. "But you grow tired in time, not so quick, no?"

Coyote is blunt here, lowering his head so that he might be somewhat level with her. "Pregnancy is not easy far from others, I have seen. Not good, no, no, not at all."