She's scared. Of course she's scared.
Marco looks like a werewolf from a budget horror movie. Twitching, snarling, shivering. His hair is wild and his eyes gleam unnaturally bright in the darkness.
You probably don't look much better.
But at least your teeth feel relatively flat, your vocal cords closer to human than wolf. You can talk, if you want to.
"Really? Why don't you tell your friend that?"
Marco growls, showing gums full of sharp teeth.
"He's upset," you say carefully, holding up a hand and hoping it's enough to get Marco to take a step back... or at very least put away his claws. "This is our territory. You came into it in the middle of the night - a really shitty, cold night - without telling us."
"I didn't come in," she snarls. "I was always here. It's my turf, not yours."
You frown. "That doesn't make sense. We howled, for days. No pack answered."
"I don't have a pack."
That was it then. She was packless. A stray. Just like you once were. It explained a lot. Wolves didn't do well on their own. Mentally or physically.
You see again her narrow limbs and the wild unhealthy light in her eyes.
"Well, it's our land now," you tell her. "You need to talk to the Alpha, or you need to leave."
She straightens. "And if I don't?"