[Malia is used to caves. She called one her home for eight years after the accident, and there had found shelter from weather, hunters, and those who had finally stopped searching for her. There had been no electricity there, either; it was a good thing that Malia's vision adjusted so quickly to the darkness.
She supposed it could be considered very beautiful out there, but Malia was not one for aesthetics. The first thing on her mind was survival, and she knew too little about those dragons - (dragons?!) - to remain in plain sight of them. It would take very little for some of them to lift her and carry her away to their lairs to be eaten. Did dragons eat werecoyotes? Did it matter? She didn't plan to find out.
She keeps herself low to the ground, wishing more than anything that she could return to all-fours. Sniffing the air around her, she takes cautious and careful steps towards what appears to be a more central area, her fear and anxiety causing her claws to extend from the tips of her fingers. She hears a sound and her fangs appear as well as she whirls to face it.]
Come closer and I'll rip out your throat!
[She means it, too. Malia has very little moral issue with killing, especially if her life is in danger.]