Sleeping Dragon "I love you, Crona."

She heaved a breath, catching herself doing it again. She was dwelling. Wildfire shook her head, scolded herself and continued her stroll through the territory. She wasn't hunting, not really, though she did keep an eye out for signs of small game. The yearling was mostly trying to clear her head, which had been full of cotton since the commander's dismissal of her a few days prior. They hadn't gotten an opportunity to speak about it and Wildfire was honestly a little afraid to bring it up. There must have been a good reason Thuringwethil had sent her away—one that didn't have to do with the Heda not trusting her or wanting to keep secrets from her—but Wildfire's scumbag brain wasn't being very cooperative.

There she went again, fidgeting mentally. "Gosh da—rn it," Wildfire muttered at herself, then abruptly jerked her head when a strange scent blustered her way, accompanied by a much more familiar one. She glanced to her left and saw Thuringwethil facing a lissome black wolf near the territory's fringes. Her first instinct was to withdraw, since the commander didn't seem to have needed her in these situations, but then the red fur along her spine prickled warily when she saw her companion's body language. Suppressing her own insecurities and questions, the Bandrona moved forward to flank her leader.

She caught the tail end of the black woman's words and her amber eyes widened, then narrowed. Wildfire was no fighter, yet when it came to Thuringwethil, a different side of her tended to come out, as it did now. "Would you like us to give you a reason?" she said coldly, black tail stiffening and arching. Her heart was beating a hundred miles per hour in her chest and her limbs shook slightly, yet Wildfire moved slowly forward, eyes boring into the stranger who dared disrespect the Heda.