I just realized, spitfire is an awesome word. XD Perfect description for Svara.
Finn let out another breath, furrowing her eyebrows at the wolf. ”Are you always like this?” She said, bolder now with vague exasperation, ”Or is this just the newcomer special?” This was going nowhere fast, but Finn intended to at least make a dent in the conversation. ”Since you aren’t so keen on talking, can I just have your name? I’ll bother you no further after that.” Finn wasn’t very easy to rile, but she hadn’t come across a wolf this irritable in years. Maybe it had something to do with the blood she scented. Maybe not. Maybe this wolf was a spitfire all year ‘round.
Finn hated to push when there was so much passive-aggressive resistance. If the wolf had just asked her for a fight, Finn would have done it in a heartbeat, though she would have tried her best to keep from wounding her opponent. Finn was okay with brawls, but mauling another pack member on her first day was a little much. Sometimes a little spat could work wonders, but Finn doubted that a simple sparring match would ease the kink in this one’s nose. So, the gray she-wolf just sat, watching the other with the infuriating calm of a meditation master. Your move, ginger.