If thou openest not the gate to let me enter,
I will break the door, I will wrench the lock,
I will smash the door-posts, I will force the doors.
I will bring up the dead to eat the living.
And the dead will outnumber the living.

The sun was warming her black coat. Ishtar layed out with her head up watching the land that surrounded her. The mists hid a lot of things but today, the sun had managed to part through and keep the fog at a minimum. Ishtar was content and quiet, listening as Riddle exploring their den and every once in awhile she felt the sharp tug of her son's nose in her back. The heir of Iromar was growing quickly, and he was maintaining the monstrous size as he was the only one to receive her attentions and milk. She was slowly regaining her previous figure, her stomach tucking up the way it had without Riddle in it. She did not think of the dead female that had been so poorly marked that her life was rendered invalid. She did not feel grief when she thought about that. She was the Blood Mouth. She was not a creature prone to weakness of any kind.

Instead her mind drifts to her elder children. They would be four and three year olds now and she knew they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Still, she did have a soft desire to be closer to them. She looked over her side as Riddle cuddle up against her and fell asleep. She gave a soft smile to him and rested comfortably. Her own belly was full absolutely due to Baphomet's faithful delivery of various meats to keep her well nourished. Save for the first day of breaking her fast, Baphomet had provided for her almost exclusively. It was something that brought them closer and closer. She would need to wean Riddle before she thought of initiating the Ritual between them. She wondered what her elder children would think of such a thing. Dante, Limoira, Saqr and Jezebeth. She knew them almost more than they knew themselves. She had been their first test in life. Ishtar had only left those worthy and well marked enough to represent the bloodline they were formed from alive before presented to their father for naming.

The wind drifted over her nose, her quiet mind still processing all the scents that it brought. There were new wolves in her lands, but their scents were far too familiar. "Filioli?" Could it be her children? She thought for a moment that she was imagining it, that the winds were playing tricks with her smart mind. They had been left behind, left to start their own lives and to live as they had been taught--like kings and queens. Like warriors and murderers. They had been tried and tested as they had grown up under her watchful eyes. "Quia non potest esse!" She did not believe her nose! It could not be them! She lifted her head to the skies, her voice echoing out against the mists of Iromar to reach her children's ears. Their matriarch was calling to them, calling to make sure they were still worthy of the marks they held. Besides, she had missed her oldest children and wished to know how they had tracked them throughout the many miles from their birthlands to here.

ISHTAR.