Little Goat Mountain Are we faded

He came closer and Wildfire just barely resisted the temptation to shrink away. She could not recall ever feeling this intimidated by another wolf, except maybe Peregrine when he had been in a particularly surly mood. She blinked her amber eyes at the stranger's coolly confident remark, the red fur on the back of her neck prickling. That sounded vaguely like a threat, though in the next instant, he was reposing like a (big) cat.

The pet name made her ears twitch and Wildfire smiled faintly. Would she never escape the comparison? She supposed she didn't mind, especially because it reminded her that she took after her mother. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the joke. That's how she took it. He seemed to have a very dry, crisp sense of humor. She thought again of Peregrine, albeit briefly.

"I don't need to seek death; it's always right there, nipping at my heels. Did you not see me fall ass over teakettle a minute ago...?" she quipped in response. She almost made a crack about being a warrior but it was no longer true and, anyway, Wildfire was far too dragooned by him to make a joke of that nature. It was clear as day he could lay her out if he so desired, just like he had done with the baby goat. "I imagine my loved ones will be very sad the day I inevitably bite the dust, whatever the cause," she finished in a quiet, wry voice.

The next moment, she shifted her weight slightly and bent over the remains of the carcass to tear off a strip of flesh and bolt it down quickly. Her eyes remained fixed on the sanguine form in front of her and, while chewing, she said, "I'm not even going to bother pretending I wasn't watching you hunt. And I have only thing to say about what I saw: teach me your ways."