Redhawk Caldera you are blood and earth, not theory and chalk

Wildfire smiled grimly, one side of her mouth twitching upward as she sniffed. She had warned the wolves of Blackfeather Woods that her mate would avenge her. Later on during her imprisonment, she had not wanted her loved ones involved—endangered—but with the might of two packs, she didn't need to fear so much. When Thuringwethil swore to kill Cicero herself, the former Bandrona did feel a jolt of quiet fear, though she simply nodded. It was what she wanted.

"I can try," she said, licking her lips almost nervously and gazing into the commander's eyes, willing her to understand how difficult it was to talk about this. "They're all out of their minds. Cicero let me go but I think he had two entirely different personalities..." she began, then went on to describe his distinctive markings, then others whose names she didn't know but whose faces she would, unfortunately, never forget. "I don't know what they did to Arlo," she admitted in a sad whisper. Her nose tickled as if she needed to sneeze but she wriggled it until the sensation went away.

Now the Heda declared she would formally combine forces with the caldera to bring down the Blackfeathers. Wildfire nodded again. "We should call for my godparents directly so you can speak to them. Just promise me something." She waited until she was certain she had Thuringwethil's undivided attention. "I don't want our children involved. I know they're—they're grownup, now... and I know they'll want to be involved. But if it can be helped, I don't want them anywhere near any of this." Of course they were affected by their mother's absence, yet that was already unbearable; she didn't want them directly exposed to the Blackfeathers, or the cruelty and violence of war.