Phoenix Maplewood and make Death proud to take us

Warbone could not at first help the edge of confusion that spawned when she corrected him. Had he been mistaken? Was this not Thuringwethil? But as he scanned inactive memories, he found the term she had given then to be related to the name he had spoken, and then recalled it to be her title. Warbone didn't openly acknowledge the correction. When they had first met she had introduced herself with the name she had meant for him to call her when they were alone— and that was all he would ever address her as. If she saw fit to correct him, he'd avoid the compulsion to say her name at all.

He moved closer through the Maplewood, careful and slow, beside the swift and curious wag of his own risen tail. For the male too is dominant, and though he claimed to own nothing, he had never met this woman as anything but his equal, and he would not disrespect either of them by presenting himself as anything else now. From the first time they hunted she had made him feel alive, and the raven queen's allure was not lost on him even after all this time. She had always given off the overly proud air that it wasn't okay to touch her, so he didn't exude the desire now, but he came boldly as close as he was allowed, and breathlessly took in her laden scent.

He smelled Wildfire, which was a memory that sprang up on him in that moment, and he remembered seeing them together. "I am glad to see you well," he murmured, regardless of her reaction to his initial closeness, and he took a several weaving steps back.