Immediately after he struck out, like the first time he had hit her, he felt an instinctive wash of regret. But he shook his head, setting his jaw. No. He would not feel bad. She had made him let go and now the ram was running off and it would be so much harder to catch it again this time. He didn't even know if he could. But he could not go back to the city until he had the ram. So he had to go on.
Still, after the first few steps away he lingered. He had expected her to still try to come after him; when she lay on the ground without moving to get up, he became worried. What if he had hurt her badly? What if her leg would not let her up? He stayed in one place, his back to the wild-woman, fighting the urge to turn around and help. No. He needed the ram. He was letting it get further away. He needed it.
Angry again but for a different reason now --angry at himself-- he half-turned back towards the woman. He would help her if she needed help. Then go after the ram.
But when he turned to look the horse was there, and he couldn't stop himself from staggering further away in fear, slipping around to hide behind the other side of the rock. He remembered vividly how the wild-horse had run at him before and the panic he had felt as he was chased. Already his heart beat harder. If he had hurt the girl and the horse became angry, it would surely attack him.
At least he had seen that she had gotten to her feet. Now she spoke, the sound getting nearer, and he shied away so she would not see him. "Stop! Too late! I am sorry, but ram should be free. I shouldn't have attacked. I was broken in head."
He said nothing. He didn't want her to find him, hiding ineffectively on the other side of the rock. He knew she had used gentle words before and then hit him. He didn't want that to happen again.
Still, when she called out "Sorry. Goodbye," he had to shake his hurting head again, trying to resist a response. That couldn't stop the muttered reply, likely too low for her to hear, "I'm sorry too. I didn't want to hurt you." Then, quick as anything, he shifted, the lights sparking around his human-now-coyote form. The coyote shook out of the human pants he'd been wearing, then kicked them into a ball with his paws and picked the clothing up in his mouth. Limping, side still aching, head pounding, and heart full of regret and resignation, he scented after the ram. He had to find it. And then he had to catch it again, somehow. There was nothing else he could do.
