Inactive Claire is inactive. 
A burning pain remained at the back of her throat, and she wondered how Faolin seemed to ignore the sensation as she herself took a swig. Biting her lip was a temporary distraction, one that would have to be ended even quicker after the fire-furred female proposed a question. She hesitated in answering, but then remembered that she had just accepted an offer of alcohol from this wolf that she had only met minutes ago. There was no use pining over her stupidity—not now, anyways—but there was also no use in pretending to be more paranoid than she really was. In fact, the paranoia she had about the cold weather seemed to melt away as soon as her throat started to burn. It was an irritating sensation, but if it got rid of her fears, maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Smirking, she told the wolfess, “You, calling me ‘little?’ You’re the same height as me—most of the time, I’m towered over by other Luperci. Especially in the pack I’m in now. There’s one wolf who’s like a damn giant.” She didn’t raise her voice very much, but there was no masking of her irritation. The effect of the whiskey only seemed to heighten it. But she calmed a little, enough to say, “It’s called Crimson Dreams. We’re mostly wolves, but I’m sure Savina or Anu wouldn’t mind having a coyote or two in the pack.”
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