Sun Mote Copse Don't be shy, mortal man.

6 for Niamh

He was quick to react- and with a sort of lightning-fast defensiveness that she might later interpret to mean that he'd been lashed at before, and that perhaps this wasn't the right method to take with the newcomer. Niamh hadn't been angry when she'd made her pass at him- but she definitely had intended to get the point across that when she wanted something, she generally expected to get it. Him brushing her off to go and see Towhee, she felt, was simply an excuse- and he'd yet to really show much respect toward her as a leader. As a new initiate, she expected better of him than this. 

She expected nothing from him, as her nephew- and she'd already come to the conclusion that he wasn't really much like Ambrose at all, which frustrated her. She should've known than the spawn of Rosalyn and Erzulie might hold some sort of innate grudge against her, or other wolves- given how defensive and fierce they were by nature- but she was surprised to see Reyes react with such savagery to a simple move meant to spur him into action, or at least into submission. 

He snapped back at her which she hadn't expected. With her head lowered toward one of his front legs, his teeth scythed through the fur and flesh of her shoulder, not wounding deep but with several snaps, his fangs left behind a series of puncture wounds that caused blood to trickle down her shoulder and foreleg. "You little shit!" She snarled, but not without a coarse laugh. He was better at sparring than she'd expected- and everything about his body language screamed for her to back off, but she wasn't done figuring out his buttons just yet. And she didn't want to be told what to do- she wanted him to submit. 

So she recoiled for a moment recalculating her movements, before she struck again- like a viper at her quarry who had bunched himself in a low position. If she could get a grip on his shoulder or nape, she might be able to give him a good shake and worry him into submission.