Swiftcurrent Creek Clairvoyence

She approached him, as hotly as her cape was red, and her storm-born eyes were locked tightly on him with an irritation that matched her tone of voice. Haunter averted his yellow gaze, aware of her higher position in the pack and yet unwilling to challenge it despite her size and his confidence that he could defeat her if he wanted. The tip of his tail wiggled nonchalantly, but his hackles had prickled, slightly defensive.

Of course he wasn't trying to make himself bleed—a question he ignored entirely—but when had invaded his personal bubble, he peered sidelong at her face, noting the scars that littered the right side of her face; the same side of his own skull that had been rent of its ear. His remaining one twitched, and he kept his eyes off hers, as respectfully as the feral wolf could manage.

"Haunter," he answered in his gravelly monotone, not returning the question because... well, his social skills were little to nonexistent.