Little Goat Mountain Are we faded

Warbone's ear twitched faintly. And his eyes, which had been scanning, suddenly jumped back to Wildfire's sharp face. Though his expression didn't seem to veritably change, there was a hint of surprise there— perhaps accompanied by either bemusement or irritation— but it was difficult to be certain. He blinked, slowly. "Not to my knowledge," he said, leaning down to eat again, scarfing down several mouthfuls before dropping on his haunches, licking his dark red jaws. "But I must consider her dead in order to trivialize the manner in which we parted ways."

Then (because he was in a fed, well-to-do kind of mood) the large wolf elaborated. "She stole my heart in my most autonomous year. It was  something very certain and inarguable between us, no less in its power because of its swift conception. But it was a flame fated to burn out," he drawled poetically, a thin film of fondness covering his voice. "I joined the pack of her brother to be with her, but in my arrogance I sought to transcend the standing impressions his followers had of him, and he was understandably... riled." His eyes shined briefly, remembering something distant. Something... gripping.

"We fought and he suffered a fatal wound that killed him the following day. She could not forgive me, and by her own teeth and tears, chased me from the territory. I have not seen her since."