Blackbeak Bluff I'll admit I tripped on your waistline

It was kind of sad, actually, to watch this gigantic jerk-ass wolf bury himself in the sand like that. A hot bolt of satisfaction shot through Wylla and made her lips turn up into a smug smirk—finally, someone showing her to respect she deserved, but coming from him of all wolves it was too little, too late. He spouted a whole lot of excuses that only made her growl through her mouthful of fish, and at length she spat it into the sand and pressed it firmly down with a white paw.

"Bullshit," she shouted at him, tail lashing. "You took me to the wrong wolves then made me feel like carrion and then tried to murder me for your mistake! You're lower than shit water and you deserve to drown in it." What did he think picking on a younger wolf would prove? How much of a total dick he was? Raptor was right. He'd proven himself, all right. Proven himself for the scumbag he was, and proven to Wylla that trusting strangers in any capacity was idiotic.

His final plea confused her though, and her growl subsided as her ears flung forward. "The hell are you talking about?" she snapped. "I don't have any pups, dumbass."