Silvertip Mountain Cobra's nest

Now she questioned him -- he saw it coming first, though, in the way she tilted her head and the pique of curious light that had briefly entered her blue gaze. Balthazar growled. It was a low, annoyed sound, not particularly directed towards her as a threat, but the wolf did not forget he was tired and here he was being "forced" to remain his version of amicable as the lone trespasser who could be descended on by a pack at any moment.

"I'm not mad," he said harshly, perhaps a little angrily. "You woke me up," he reminded her, his back stiffening at the memory; "so why the hell would I be pleasant right now?" Balthazar glowered at the female, though it was evident he wasn't going to act physically on his frustration with her. "Now I have to find myself another spot to sleep—off this goddamned mountain—and you're feeding me names like you want me to stay and be interested or some equally as backwards shit."

He returned to glaring at her, but his outburst had freed some of the negligent hate in his head and he somehow seemed even less harmful than before. Zar was (unknowingly) beginning to resign to the fact that she was presenting him with something he'd been missing for many weeks since the last wolf he'd come across. And that was the socialization craved by a natural pack animal.