Firestone Hot Springs viiii. i was born to fight, to rage, to war

She'd grown stangely perceptive, intuitive, after her father's desecration of her features. She can practically sense the ire radiating off of him before she turns, head craning as her remaining orb saught a bear of snow. 

For a moment, confusion prevailed - leading her to wonder if she was still trapped in the realm of dreams (for surely no icebears had wandered so far from the north). A pitch like rumble escapes him, a challenge, and the pieces click into place - not a bear, but a huge and seriously pissed off male. 

An instinct of preservation begged her to submit, to flee, but a simultaneous charge surged forth - that anxious and kinetic energy that had been brewing since the beast's failed assault and rape. 

She was hungry, dammit. And she was sick of brutes pushing her around. 

She stood to her full, unimpressive, height and bared her teeth defensively in his direction. "I want no trouble," the exile ventured, on the off chance that he was flexible and willing to collaborate in order to feed - rather than set on ripping off her face as his expression seemed to imply.

But I'll gladly give it if trouble is what you seek, the wary tone of her voice and the guarded veil of her eye seem to project.