Little Goat Mountain Are we faded

Warbone considered the girl's request, ears flicking as she introduced herself. Wildfire. Idly he wondered if she had ever seen the horrifying beauty that was an actual untamed blaze. And though he knew she had earned her namesake by the color of her fur, he made a mental observation that she was almost nothing like the feral flames that had engulfed the woods of his homeland. Warbone had not known fear before or since that occasion. "Warbone, of nowhere," he drawled, tucking away the name of her home in the back of head and quirking an impressed brow at her given rank.

"I must attribute most of my talent to the threat of starvation, but over time I have found ways to exponentially increase my chances of success. Since you specialize in smaller prey, I recommend first finding the place in which they will flee for— their burrow or what have you, they never stray too far from it— and driving them in the opposite direction. They will instinctively seek their home, and this will (more often than not) eventually drive less thoughtful creatures right to you as they attempt to roundabout their way back. There are usually several places they have to escape, so it would be fortuitous of you to seek them all. It is a longer process but the results are more promising. I have learned a great deal of patience, having to hunt this way."