Firefly Glen seem to paint a red line

the woman turns foul easily, and her snarl is met with the pricking of her hackles, the lashing of her tail as she steps once toward the woman. familiar footfalls, then, a snarl. any inhibitions that she might have had vanish in a moment, and the silver moves, charging directly toward the woman with jaws agape. aim is her face, seeking to tear, to rend that authority she wears so falsely.