Barrow Fields if you see me floatin' too many times

One ear flicks at the hooded wolf's words, and his eyes follow hers to the cliff she speaks of, lingering there a few beats. He glances back to her only a breath before she speaks again, lips curving a little sardonically at the returned question. A dead man, He says, mostly because he has no other answer for her; he possesses only flashes of memory of the incident, key points creating a vague image to draw from. Maybe he wouldn't tell her even if he knew. His gaze returns to the cliffs briefly, then back to her, and belatedly he realizes that her scent is mixed with those of the pack he'd hoped to avoid. So you're at war?