Hushed Willows Quixote

Remembering had taken longer than healing. His body had reformed before his mind could, and Warbone had settled contently within a small nomadic assemblage before he could recollect his own identity. And it had come back without warning, as Rami— who had been calling him Quixote the last four months— called out to him and he bitterly corrected her on reflex. He would remember how shocked and hurt she looked in that moment for a long time to come. Assuming he was not again rendered injured to the point of amnesia.

Though suspecting Rami loved him, his heart cried for the willows too loudly. He howled at night, calling for anyone who might recognize his voice, but no song was ever returned and he realized that he was not in the same place anymore. The behemoth stayed, quiet for days as the memories trickled back and beaded up like dewdrops on the surface of his thoughts. Warbone eventually remembered what had happened to him, and this final anamnesis spurred him into leaving them.

---

He stood at the borders of the Hushed, pausing as the familiarity of his surroundings seemed to be  surrendering to the absence of familiar scents. He seemed to know what he was looking at, but could not comprehend how differently it smelled. Had his followers disbanded, leaving the willow trees to be claimed by another's stake? Where were Octavia's trails? What had happened to his Keep? He thought he recognized something about the most dominate border-mark, but could not bring any sort of conformation to this brainwork.

He did not look any different, besides the gory vacancy on the left side of face, but Warbone was not a wolf easily forgettable by any means. If anyone was here that would recognize him, his presence here could be legitimized. Lifting his chin, he sent out an unintentionally commanding howl for an audience, then waited beneath the half-clouded sun for someone to arrive.

i wasn't going to do this  -- or even bring him back at all -- but then i got bored... :3