Sleepy Fox Hollow will you sing for me, even when i'm gone?

“an’ yer still loud,” wolf chortles at him from the rest of the hill he stands upon, looking briefly over his kin.
he shifts his weight once. gravel pops beneath a hoof. his eyes flick to sundown, then back.
“not here for yer mares, brother. never was.” wolf snorts in response, fixing the roan stallion with a knowing look. he exhales through his nose.
“just hungry. ridge ‘s picked clean. figured i’d try the edge.” brief explanation as he ventures closer, his gait not confident but instead quiet, not seeking to appear stronger or showcase himself in challenge. it had never been that way—not between them. colosseum and wolfshelm had been all the other had for quite some time, and he sought to see if any scrap of that bond remained beneath his brother’s bravado.
“y’ want me gone, say it. i’ll head east.” he means it. there is no pride in his step. just the way he’s always been—one step behind the herd, then further.