Phantom Hollow a slab in the morgue

The second he became defensive, she smirked, amused by his realisation that he truly was a dumbass. And perhaps said smirk would have remained, had he not spoken back to her the way that he did; now, it was her turn to take up the defensive side of the conversation, though her line between defensive and offensive was severely blurred. “I might not have met them before, but I know enough about packs to understand that you running did nothing to help your case,” she shot back. “All you did was make yourself look even more guilty.” For generations, her family had spent their lives avoiding packs. They neither joined nor led them, but instead belittled them and everything that they represented. Never had they lived in unison with them, either, which had forced her to learn early on that which was okay and not okay around the sheep and their land; but really, even a child would know that running from the scene of a crime would, undoubtedly, make you appear guilty to any wolf, not just those single-minded pack dwellers.

“Maybe it would have been better had they just killed you,” she then commented. “It’s not exactly ideal for you to continue living—especially if you ever plan to reproduce. We don’t need any more idiots like you running around out there.” Sorina shrugged her shoulders, treating her words as if they weren’t downright mean and uncalled for. “Anyways, I think it’s time for you to take what’s left of your face and get the fuck out of my way before I take your other eye,” were the next words to leave her mouth, voice even and tone bored with an annoyed edge. “You can talk to me again when you’re smarter—if you can find me.” As if anyone would want to find her.