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Pinned beneath the towering brute, Irene's emerald eyes blazed with fury rather than fear. The cold, wet mud clung to her coat, seeping into her fur, and her nostrils flared as she inhaled the stench of the swamp mixed with his scent. She struggled briefly, not to free herself but to shift her position enough to glare up at him, her lip curling in frustration. 

Who am I? she spat, her voice sharp with indignation. I'm the wolf you just threw into this filthy mess, that's who! She gave a growl of her own, her tail flicking angrily against the damp ground. Do you make a habit of assaulting strangers in the middle of a swamp, or is this some kind of special occasion?

Her claws flexed in the mud beneath her, and she tilted her head, defiance clear in her gaze despite the compromising position. You’ve got about three seconds to get off me before I decide to make this situation a lot more unpleasant for both of us.