Whatever. He sweeps the air as if he's setting her apology to the side. Wrench probably owes her one of his own for staring, but now that he's gotten a longer look at her he's even more convinced that the ears and the tail probably aren't some kind of elaborate costuming. The tail she's now gesticulating at him in a very insistent way. Got it. Cat, not dog. Wrench considers admitting he's never owned either, and wisely reconsiders.

I know werewolves. He gestures to himself, tall and upright and very human. Then Wrench points up to the sky. The moon's not out at this hour, but he arcs his thumb and first finger into a crescent shape and suspends it above him. Then he hunches and shapes his hands into claws, baring his still very human teeth. Wrench swipes the blanket from her hands and drapes it over his shoulders. Like that.