Blacktail Deer Plateau [j] turn my swag on

"Submit?" she questioned cheekily. "Oh, no, I don't think so. You see, respect is earned, not given. Besides, you aren't my Alpha." Whoo, she had a temper. She obviously needed a good, hard fuck, not that anybody would willingly do it to her. Roanoke suspected she was more of a bro than a prospective woman. And anyway, she hadn't told Hawkeye what to do. She'd simply made an observation. In any case, Roanoke's cool wasn't lost in the slightest by the other wolf's outburst. In fact, she soaked it in smugly, amused by the other's precarious temper.

Sharp face was a weird insult, to which she laughed aloud, unabashed. Was that supposed to sting? "Looks like you need some better condiments," she snorted, "cause that weak sauce ain't gonna cut it." Haughtily she began an unusual sidestepping sidewind, keeping the puffing Alpha in her view as she put distance between them, and with a toss of her head, said, "I can see all I'll find here are dumb slavering beasts, based on yourself. I mean, if you're trying to give your pack mates a bad image, you're in first place. I think my talents would be better placed elsewhere. Can't cure stupid." She snickered, goading on the Alpha, not really caring all that much about the meeting's outcome anymore.

Roanoke was a very well-trained healer, and very devoted to that profession. Should Hawkeye see past the attitude and retorts, she would find a useful ally in the Eyjolfur... But there was the matter of attitude, not easily overlooked. Endearing, perhaps. Amusing, certainly. But also cutting and irritating, and the more annoyed others got, the more Roanoke did it, as always.