The Floodlands I'm doing fine, trying to derail my one track mind

The pitter-patter of paws behind her earns a jerk of her head, the fur of her neck bristling. The thick, musky smell of a male wolf hits her nostrils. He carries pack scent with him. This unnerves her. Was she trespassing? 
Turning around with a stiff, yet graceful swivel of her torso, she faces him, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to get a better look at her suitor without getting closer than necessary. Well, you're just the king of smooth introductions, eh? She barks out something along the lines of a laugh, flaring her nostrils as her tail sways lowly, level with her ankles. What's up with you, then? Couldn't ignore the temptation of an unfamiliar woman? Her mouth curls into somewhat of an awkward smirk. She tries to make herself look smaller, less threatening; all too aware of her size. Half-decent first impressions had to mean something, right?