Too little too late, she realized her mistake. The instant she let the coyote go, it lunged for her to attack. Apparently she had only managed to anger it more than anything else. But the russet woman was not the sort who would submit to a lesser canine like this, let alone be pushed around by anyone. She backpedaled, hind end scraping against the foliage of a shrub, teeth barred. Fortunately, her mate was there and seized control of the situation, grabbing the coyote by the scruff. It's needle like teeth only managed to scrape the surface of her foreleg, barely leaving pinkish marks in their wake. That was the closest it would come to doing any serious damage.
Emboldened by the fact that the coyote was less a threat with Emrys handling it, she leapt into the fray again. While he shook it's neck violently, she went for the hindquarters. Her parted jaws specifically targeted the hips, seeking to wrap around the lower spine. Bone crunching pressure forced down, inch by inch. She ignored the flail of delicate paws, small but sharp nails scraping in protest against her muzzle and forehead, ears pinned back
protectively. If she succeeded in severing it's back (which was her full intent) the coyote would either die instantly or be paralyzed from the hips down.