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

I'm no easy woman, if that's what you're thinking. Now, Wren was far from experienced in the art of flirtation and courtship - if you could even call this that, with the way they'd been sizing each other up - but she knew enough to know that males had two heads, and often didn't think with the one that had a brain. She knew that fire that burned behind his eyes, even in her young naivety. An almost instinctual knowledge. 
She was no woman of commitment and family life; nor would she throw herself at just anyone. She needed some level of effort. Whether he was willing to provide that, though, she had yet to gather.
His guffaws and cackles felt almost as if he were challenging her, testing her; watching to see what broke her down. Brutish, in its own right. She takes a step or two back as he draws closer, leaving one forepaw dangling in the air. That smirk still clung to her face, teeth beginning to show themselves, yet not out of anger or malevolence. She kept her distance, for the most part, only coming close to take in more of his scent or brush lightly against him before backing off again. Her eyes never left him. She wasn't uninterested; inticing him, even. He offered her excitement, and that was something she ached for.
Wren, in the midst of her dance she offers him her title, breathy and close to his ear before creating space once more. if that matters to you. After all, she lids her eyes. what would your packmates think if they knew you were chattin' me up?