Why do all the monsters come out at night?

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 The night was peaceful as ever. Tsetseg watched over the herd, keeping an eye out for anything that might be dangerous. Anything with teeth. Anything that made noise. Anything that smelled funny. It was all fair game to be absolutely terrifying to all things even-toed, or perhaps even their single-toed weirdo friends down south.
 Tsetseg chewed something dry and thorny, crunching each individual sharp edge as though it was a candy between her teeth. She grazed.
 It was something white on the rocks that she spotted movement from. Tsetseg stopped chewing, opening her nostrils to try to inhale the scent, but there was nothing. Downwind. “BRAHP,” she declared, annoyed at this... thing.

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 She frowned. The white thing told her and her herd to shut up, and at this she continued chewing and looking on at the beast, snorting with displeasure. At that point, several other members of the small herd had woken to look up at the animal.
 One of them bellowed loudly in response to the command, but Tsetseg simply stared at the animal, trying to discern what it was and its purpose. She looked on the rocky, still horizon, hunting for other animals that might be with this one. Her poor night vision was not a help here. She lifted her head, eyes bulging even more than usual from the potential threat. Flicking her tail, she chewed faster and spoke again to the distant dot.
 “Nooooooope,” she brayed, having not much idea what it was thinking, saying, or feeling, but knowing that whatever it was, the answer was "no." Four of the five other herd members had lifted their heads to try to gauge the danger, but remained rather silent after the frank bellow. If the beast approached, Tsetseg knew that they would all startle and run. She, being young and boastful, believed they could take on the white blob whatever it threw at them.

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 All right. Okay. Now he was stomping toward them. One of the males in the herd made a low, rumbling growling noise, at which Tsetseg kicked one of her wide feet. They would stand their ground. Whatever this white, ugly beast was, it had nothing on their powerful kicks and angry teeth. A female moved to shove her dominantly, not-so-subtly answering that they should run. Tsetseg would simply not have it. She would not allow a singular ugly thing to ruin their peaceful cool evening of grazing.
 To wit, the skeleton dog spoke foul language at them, mistaking them for common horses rather than the graceful swans of the hoofed world they they were. Tsetseg's nostrils narrowed and she once more raised her head to look at him in an angry, sideways glance so that he might see the white of her eye while she snapped back at him.
 “Nasty cur go now,” she grumbled, standing her ground with the herd and begging him internally to come close so that she might throw rumen contents upon his jackass of a face or bite off his ugly, fluffy tail. Kintara, the younger female camel who often helped back her up in times like these, grumbled low and daringly at him too. “This land ours,” Tsetseg rumbled.

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 Aaaand she spit.
 In camels, spit is not saliva. Spit is the beautiful green and glorious nature known as ruminant contents, thrown usually without intent at anything that feels like a threat.
 But Tsetseg did it on purpose. She knew the disgust from other animals. She knew immediately that she hated this dog-wolf-thing.
 Tsetseg even moved to bite, if only because the animal had decided to insult her and her herd on a second occasion. So while he bristled and did whatever it was that dog-things did to defend themselves, she spat the contents of her stomach at him, and shouted, “You cunt of a cur!!”

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