Sleeping Dragon is 'i love you' a fact or weapon?

When Wildfire approached the whelping den, a quail hanging limply in her jaws, she spotted the Heda and froze indecisively. She meant to drop the meat off for the new mother, yet if she left it at the usual spot, that would mean engaging with the commander. She could turn back instead, eat the quail herself and hunt something else for Gyda. But that was stupid, silly and selfish. A muffled sigh exploded around the feathery body in her mouth as she reluctantly slunk forward.

She came to a halt perhaps six feet from the reposing Thuringwethil, slowly lowering her kill to the ground between her forepaws. "Hello, Heda," she said amiably enough. It wasn't that she didn't like her—she had the opposite problem, of course—she just wanted to keep things businesslike and not particularly familiar, for her own sanity. "This is for Gyda," she explained, staring at the dead quail for a long beat before finally lifting her eyes to look at the Heda.

If she had hoped time and distance would dispel her feelings toward the dark woman, the yearling had been sorely mistaken. The mere sight of Thuringwethil made her bones ache with a strangely poignant longing. It left her chest and stomach feeling empty. Her amber eyes dropped again, her mouth dry as she drew in a very long, steadying breath and tried to tamp down her feelings, crush them into some sort of black hole deep inside her so she wouldn't have to experience them.