The Heartwood Buckle Up Butter Cup

"How about no," she snorts, wolfish brows raising. "You're the moron here, not me. Lookit you. You're made for running!" Tiger knew a runner when she saw one. Oddly enough, Tiger had the build of one who could run and one who could fight; but she hadn't ever determined a path to take, and so she sat in limbo, not a brilliant runner and also not a brilliant fighter. She wasn't even average. Below-average, maybe. But she knew enough to hold her own...

Still, she had a feeling that this other wouldn't fight. If they wanted to, they would have already, wouldn't they have? Those cuts ought to make her a badass, but Tiger now saw more mouthy wolf who was probably put in her place. Tiger was mouthy, just, not to the wrong people. Certainly not to people she believed could kick her ass... which meant a part of her felt (unjustly) safe in the presence of this Plains wolf. "A ten second head-start... come on, you hound! Still hardly fair. I saved you from a skunk. And you want me to be your slave..." it made sense, though, in an odd way. Kivi likely saw her as brainy, and the tawny stranger had none of those... a smug grin lit her face then, feeling very important, and very needed.