His reaction actually sets her a little more at ease. The hackles go down, the ears come up. She sniffs the air between them, and even though it feels weirdly like her nose is somehow muted, she can still tell he's very human. Very human, very nervous, very much not whoever brought her here.

She cocks her head, studying him with an expression that probably looks unnervingly shrewd on a wolf.

This is a risk. He'll probably attack her. At the very least he'll probably start throwing insults and epithets her way. But she can just shift back and run--it's not like any average human on its best day can keep up with a sprinting werewolf.

Besides, she can't ask any questions in this shape.

So congrats Peter, there's now a girl in her late teens in oversized flannel and too-large boots climbing to her feet on the path in front of you. She eyes him warily for a moment.

"You going to try and hit me, or can I say something first?"