Hushed Willows Quixote

His head angled towards the returned call, feeling a tightness in his chest at the unfamiliarity of the voice. He had certainly been hoping to hear from Octavia— even the call of Kunik, Teagan, Trick, or Nova and her daughter would've been welcome. He looked down at the boy as he stated the owner of the voice was Stark, which at least gave him a face he could remember, despite not having known him well at all. Warbone stood when the handsomely robust and dark wolf arrived. He chose his posture carefully— attentive, though remaining as neutral as possible.

Despite his formal presence, he couldn't help but to glance down at Tambourine, a ghost of a smile pulling lightly on the corner of his mouth. "My name is Warbone," he said to the boy, lifting his chin once more so that he might look at Stark. "My eye was lost in a fight with my own sister, Sivra. I did not know she harbored ill feelings for me when she found and informed me of a herd she was tracking. And though I never received an explanation, I suppose she needed to lead me away so that the Keep would not interfere."

"I ventured with her, and she ambushed me on a cliffend. She took my eye— not an easy task, mind you—" he added for Tambourine's interested sake, "we fell over the ledge, and when I woke up she was dead... and I had no clue who I was." This, or death, could've been the only reason Arkham would have left his Keep, though Stark did not know the character of him personally. "I took up under the stead of nomads as I healed, and returned as my memory did." He had many questions, but let his story absorb first before he would resolve to ask them.