Cerulean Cape High maintenance means you're a gluttonous queen, narcissistic and mean

She couldn't muster a single word in response; she'd grown weary of his constant insults when he was the only one of them who had ever done anything wrong. If Wylla had the powers of the cosmos on her side, she would have willed him away to a distant star, never to be seen again. There wasn't a single redeeming quality in the bastard, and her eyes remained wicked on him as he began to move, eliciting a hackle response from the tiniest Luschyon.

Her reaction was instantaneous when he lunged. She'd been in so many scraps in her life, it was a wonder she wasn't dead. Beneath her coarse fur was a map of scars from the fights she'd picked with larger and more experienced wolves, and she had often lost—but she also hadn't lived as she had for so long out of sheer luck. In a flurry of rough sand, the silver-and-charcoal wolf swung around and threw herself at his arm, teeth parted to seek dangerous purchase on his leg and ward him away from the seal.

She couldn't possibly eat or carry all that meat, but now it was a matter of pride rather than survival.