Sawtooth Spire cold, cold man.

Wylla's first impressions of all three wolves plummeted in the interim between question and response. Stryx didn't deign to respond to her at all, but Wylla was used to that kind of flippant disrespect. No matter what she did, no matter if she worked hard or didn't, no matter how she carried herself, she seemed to be met with nothing but disrespect. She was convinced that if she was a man, or if she was taller, she would be considered a reasonable and respectably fierce leader for her territoriality and stern demeanour.

Instead, she got to suffer belligerent idiots like this.

Rather than reacting with her usual fire, Wylla's yellow eyes drilled straight through Stryx's skull, her expression somewhere between unimpressed and expectant, and there they remained unwavering. Praimfaya supplied the answer but Wylla cut her off with a grunt. I asked her. She can do me the basic decency of answering my question while hanging around my territory. Stryx saving Praimfaya was irrelevant. It didn't give her the right to traipse around so close to Sagtannet and it sure didn't give her the right to disregard a direct question from one of the pack's leaders. If anything, it bought her a pinch of patience. But Wylla wasn't known for tolerance or empathy. She was known for suspicion and hostility.

Anything else she might've said at that point was cut off when the aggressive cub decided to step forward, effectively dashing that patience on the stone underfoot. Wylla surged forward with a savage snarl, hackles raised, and if Connie didn't have the good sense to draw back, the Eisen's teeth would slam into the bridge of her muzzle with barely inhibited ferocity in a rough muzzle grab. Enough to hurt, not enough to do significant lasting harm. Saving Praimfaya be damned. She would not tolerate this shit on her turf, not even from a kid. Connie was old enough to know better. She might've thought such a fierce display from a cub was admirable on another day, or in another place, but instead her impression of Connie was one of sheer stupidity. No matter how savage the kid was, she was no match for Wylla, and challenging a pack leader on their own borders was just brainless and insolent. Being a child didn't excuse her.

A thick snarl wound through the air and her eyes flashed dangerously. The message was clear: Get lost.