Blackbeak Bluff take the halves and call them brothers

It might have been clear by their equal affinity for bull-headedness that they were related. Ragna thought he was being unreasonable. No part of her had died, merely changed. So, too, was he the same wolf he had been in his youth, only older and different. But if he wanted to carry on playing at ignoring where he came from, so be it. Stop being stupid, she said, feeling a little petty. Though she had resolved not to push, her resolve was weak in the face of her frustration. His determination to not remember her was a personal slight in her eyes. You didn't die.

We'll see, he said, and she scoffed. She didn't have the patience to be denied by her family again and again, and it was wearing into discontent. Were she younger she would have cried, bereft, or she would have shouted in fury. Now all she did was pace, stalking across the green to grant physicality to her feelings, lest she lash out at him. Why don't you remember? she asked, and now she didn't try to hide the upset in her voice. She was hurt, she was angry.