Doesn't matter. She's shifting again, swinging her hind until her face is eye-to-eye with the coyote. All so she might eat and talk all at once, dipping down on powerful forelegs to shred off another immense hunk of raw flesh. Unsurprisingly, the ursine speaks with a mouth full, loudly chewing on that thick, waxy blubber as she tucks even further into her meal. "Well. Y' looks a fox, y' actin's a fox." The bear sniffs. "Seems 'nuff like a fox to be's one t' me. But, oy, a'ight, yer a coyot'e." Her innate accent butchers the word a touch, as does the mouthful of meat. "Wot's a skinny, furless lil' thing like ye doin' ere? Yer shiverin' out yer pelt, an it's summer." 'Summer', or, more accurately, the 'warm season' of Behemoth Brim. A dew days north, and she'd be in that shimmery, blustering cold that Murgrind called home.
![[Image: 110808325_6cxFgZ2xjaojuVq.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/110808325_6cxFgZ2xjaojuVq.png)