Darran's flat on his back, trying not to breathe in the choking fumes-- not exactly easy when the weight pinning him down is made of fucking FIRE and his every instinct is to scream with pain. Out of blind instinct, he had curled up a little as the hound pounced on him, and now he's able to lever it off and fling it away with his feet, getting in one good swipe across its muzzle as it goes. He coughs and staggers to his feet, ashes and cinders flaking off of his body to reveal pink, already-healing skin underneath. He steadies himself and puts up both clawed hands. "Christ on a fucking shit, what the fuck are these things!"

He has, in fact, registered the werecoyote at his side, but for now that's just the normal way of things when he's in a fight. In a minute or two it'll sink in.