Bramblepoint Lethal poison for the system

Wylla's intentions were almost nonexistent—she circled out of a need to keep moving, lest her skinny body feel the cold—but when some broad came striding out of the woods and stood directly in her path, Wylla drew back with a faint sneer, suspicions mounting. Her interactions with pack wolves had been nothing but bad thus far, and recently, it had nothing to do with her usual unsavoury attitude. She blamed Towhee entirely for what happened at the Caldera, and the few packs she'd run into before that had displayed a similar holier-than-thou attitude that made her pessimistic in the face of any seasoned pack wolf, as Hydra clearly was.

Galaxy she could have potentially gotten along with, maybe even introduced her to the ways of the lone wolf, who she would insist fought twice as hard to survive as any pack wolf ever had to. Hydra's imposing presence did nothing to quell Wylla's lofty opinion of herself and other loners, luckily, so she didn't hesitate to answer Galaxy's question with point-blank honesty: "Because pack wolves tend to be jerks."

Before either of them could possibly be offended enough to it to launch an offensive, Wylla continued. "Every pack wolf I've ever met looks down on loners like they're better than us, but they ain't never had to survive on their own. I can't stand spoiled pack wolves that act like that. That's why I'm not an entitled pack wolf, because no pack has deserved it." Well, no one ever said Wylla wasn't full of herself and completely bitter, right? "So what does your pack think, hm?" she wondered, believing herself to know the answer as her gaze drifted to Hydra.

As far as she was concerned, all pack wolves were the same.