Coyote trotted onto the black sands of Parangtritis Beach. He was a long way from the mesa. He barked at the ocean, annoyed by the noise. Mask of Many Faces. He tried to trick the tide into retreating.
"Go away, wet blanket!" he howled. Tale-Weaving Howl.
The ocean did not retreat. It rose.
Nyi Roro Kidul, the Queen of the Southern Sea, emerged from the green foam. She was regal, dangerous, and distinctly unimpressed by the scruffy canine.
"You are loud," she commanded. "And dry."
Coyote tried to steal her jade hairpin. Stolen Fire.
Nyi Roro Kidul raised a single finger. Monsoon Weave.
A massive rogue wave, heavy with the pressure of the deep ocean, crashed onto the shore. It wasn't a fight; it was a washing cycle. Coyote was tumbled through the coral reef, spun like a ragdoll, and deposited a mile inland in a mangrove swamp. Soaking wet and missing his dignity, Coyote shook himself dry and decided that the desert was much, much nicer.