Don't take the images /too/ seriously - Ansha's not blonde, and she's not nearly that pale, either.
Ansha isn't used to spending a hell of a lot of time in human form. Most of the time, she is the wolf - a sleek black bitch standing a little over five feet tall at the shoulder. A white 'bib' going from under her chin to down just between her forelegs and the bony spikes of the dire wolf stand out in stark relief.
There's clear intelligence in her eyes, something that's confounded many a hunter in the past.
Human, she stands over six feet tall barefoot - and she's usually barefoot - lean and powerfully muscled. Scars stripe her dusky skin, none worse than the gnarled skin under her jaw. For all that, Ansha makes an attractive human. Thick black hair frames her face, falling into brown eyes that still have something of the wolf in them.
She rarely bothers with clothing, preferring a leather kilt and halter to restrictive windings of cloth. Some wear them well - she doesn't figure herself to be one of those.
The very /very/ few who've seen her really lose her temper describe the nine-foot-tall whirlwind of rage and steel as a nightmare best left to the depths of night.
When she was born, the tribe's seer predicted great things for her, and her parents shared a worried look. As she matured, she proved herself stronger, faster and smarter than her agemates - a natural leader, pratfalls, mistakes and all. The hunt, when she came of age at 16, was supposed to have been a mere formality. It was a bloody massacre, and the blood moon shone full and bright on the torn bodies of nine young warriors when it was over. The tenth, throat all but torn out, walked away on four legs.
Ansha doesn't really remember being bitten. The attack was a whirlwind of fangs and fur and terror, and much of the experience is now buried in the ever-present 'now' of the wolf's perception of time. She's not even sure how long she wandered, lost in the wolf-mind. When she did return to herself, the wolf remained, ever present in the back of her mind, source of an instinctive distrust of humans, human dens, and human settlements that has kept Ansha warily circling the outskirts of more than one while she dredges up enough human to pass.
Of late, she's making an effort to 'be human'. Mostly because she's not comfortable with the wolf's idea of what a suitable 'pack, mate and cubs' means. The wolf is of the opinion she's too picky.