Redhawk Caldera you are blood and earth, not theory and chalk

"I'm sorry," Wildfire whispered automatically, cringing at the sight of her germ-ridden goop clinging to her mate's dark coat. Thuringwethil didn't seem to mind much; she did not withdraw, nor complain. Wildfire felt her mate's flanks expand as she drew in a deep breath, curled around the smaller she-wolf like a great black scarf.

If anything should have jump started Wildfire's emotions, it was that dreaded question. But she still felt largely blank. She paused for a long beat, then replied in a strangely expressionless voice, "A wolf called Cicero from Blackfeather Woods kidnapped me. He and the others in the pack kept me prisoner in a cave, where they poisoned and tortured me. Then one day, Cicero simply let me go." She punctuated the brief summary with yet another sneeze, though this time she managed to turn her head at the crucial moment to avoid spraying the commander again.

Facing her mate once more, Wildfire said slowly, "I thought I was getting better. Physically, I am—aside from this cold..." She took a labored breath, then said, "But you coming here, it makes me think I'm more broken than I realized. I just feel so..." A long silence stretched between them as she searched for the right word. "Detached." She sniffled. "Like you're—like I'm—still a million miles away."