There was an accusation thrown, and Siv considered laughing at it. She was hardly a jötunn compared to Larkspur, who towered above even her. Perhaps, though, there was blood in her from some long-lost ancestor of her father’s line. Yet still, what arrogance. Another step; she was almost close enough now, and then she could strike. The hunting tactics learned as a girl applied now to her own brethren, to wolves she no longer saw as equals. A stillness grew in her body, though it was taunt and ready to move. All the signs were obvious. It was the chocolate wolf’s fault for not seeing them.
“You came to my home,” she sneered, teeth gleaming. “That makes you my business.” Then there was no warning. Siv’s lips pulled away from her teeth and her tail flagged high. She burst into a run, intending to take the girl by surprise and subdue her. An open maw rushed towards a leg—if Siv could disable the she-wolf, capturing her would be easier. If she did not break a bone, a wound could heal…and a slave had no need of a fully functioning leg anyway.
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