It takes a surprising amount of effort to keep from lurching forward and throttling the elf standing before him. Were Derek not in the middle of the Dalish camp acting as a representative for the Pack, and if this...brat was not the son of Keeper Stilinski, he would not hesitate to simply toss the fool into the nearest creek and sit on him.
"You know, you don't look like a werewolf, Hale. You're missing the long fangs and gruesome claws," the young elf says, raising his hands and curling them into mock claws and baring his teeth comically. Derek rolls his eyes hard enough that it seems only a miracle from Andraste herself they do not fall from his skull. "I thought your kind liked to snarl and devour everything that had a pulse and - "
"We do," Derek growls, cutting off the idiotic explanation and keeping his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leans down toward the elf, pointedly sniffing the air around him. "Especially little Dales that like to steal their father's ale." He smirks, flashing his sharp canines as the boy's eyes widen in shock. "It makes the blood taste so much sweeter," he finishes, smug.
There is a single beat of silence, puncuated by only a brief hint of trepidation coming from the elf's pores, before a grin splits the smooth face. Not intimidated by the werewolf's proximity, apparently, he leans even more toward Derek and whispers, "Your sense of smell that good, huh? Awesome."
Derek fights back the urge to drag a palm down his face and jerks back, annoyed.
The young elf steps back and whips around all in one motion, innocently crossing his arms behind his back. It's obvious even to Derek that he is making a vailiant effort not to fidget as Keeper Stilinski comes forward and puts a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Yo, Da...Father. Keeper. Sir." Derek snorts. The Dalish are all so very formal, even within familial relations.
"Why don't you go finish helping the others repair the nets?"
"Aw, c'mon, can't I sit in? I won't touch anything this time, I promise. You won't even know I'm there."
The young elf makes a frustrated noise and flails his arms. "Okay, okay. I'm going."
The Keeper nods and turns back to Derek. "I apologize if my son gave you a difficult time. Shall we begin?" He waits for Derek's grunt of affirmation before leading the way to the heavy canvas tent meant for councils such as this, Dalish symbols boldy stitched into the sides.
Feeling eyes boring through his back, Derek looks over his shoulder and catches Stiles' gaze, smirking when the elf's fair complexion flushes a light pink over his cheeks and tips of his ears. He snaps at the air in Stiles' general direction and watches with a satisfied air as the young elf goes even redder with indignation and quickly scurries off.