Wapun Meadow botchlings

Hate raised it's ugly head from the dark corner of her brain, where it had been sleeping soundly, opened it's firey red eyes and hissed. Something in the manner Stigmata had spoken to her put Sarah off and made her reach for that figurative knife in order to point it at him threatiningly and ask him to change his tone. For a flash of a moment, the hatred shone through the broken she-wolf's broken shell and her muzzle twitched lightly, as if she was suppressing a will to growl. 

She found it surprising that, while she was beaten in the ground, she did not yet consider herself dirt that someone else could tread on. "Sounds fair," she replied, swallowing all the snarky remarks that hate was shoving her way. "Sarah."