She has wandered over these lands far too often, first as a lone female with her three young pups. Fathom, Ellie, and Capone. All of them gone, never to be heard from again. Capone has gone to distant lands, and likely won't return to a bitter mother and father who had forsaken him. Ellie had disappeared shortly after coming here, wandering off on her own, her fate is unknown to Natalya, but the mother hopes her child was successful. Fathom, her precious Fathom, is gone forever from this world. Never can she hold her baby girl, hear her snarky voice or even watch over her again. She could not show the grief for her baby to the father, the only thing her mind focused on was the fact that she wanted her soul stitched together. The only breaking her heart would do around him was for him, not for their child. But here, she is far enough away from him that her mind is her own and not ruled over by the bond. She had found a faint trail of Fathom, covered in the tangy scent of blood and swamp. Tears build in her eyes and she is finally able to shed them, alone with no threat of being found by any wolf save perhaps the one she wished to avoid in this moment. How could she not feel this pain around him? For now she is able to, for now she rolls in the washed away scent of her daughter's blood. She cries, tears streaming down her face as she runs her it against the grass, smearing any trace of her daughter's scent into her fur. She cares not for her surroundings, nor who should look onto this bizarre display of grief. Every now and then, she rolls to her stomach, dipping her head to inhale Fathom's scent.

She tracks her daughter's last day, moving as her daughter would have through this new face of Moladion. She has followed the scent from Diveen, tracking her daughter, following the scent blindly in her grief. Licking at what spots of tangy blood she has found with her eyes closed and her heart split open, Natalya grieves in her own way. She wishes she could have been there with her daughter, to comfort her in those last moments, to be there. Natalya lays now in a pool of her daughter's scent, where it mingles with others, most likely her attackers. How dare they come upon her daughter with ill intent, how dare they attack her. A dark wrath comes upon her, something within her sad heart snaps and her yellow eyes scan the area as she sits up. A wicked growl escapes her lips and she stands. Gods fear grieving mothers, especially the ones of her line. Hell hath no fury as an Amazon avenging her child. She memorizes the scents of those who had attacked her baby, absorbing them into her mind as she looks around, making sure there are no others to mar the scent of those who had stolen her child's life. Devil had said that she ended them all, and there were the decaying bodies to prove it, each a crumpled mass of bones and fur. She is proud of her, and this collecting of scents is not for the living plane. She intends to meet them in the spiritual plane, and destroy their very souls so they cannot be reborn.

She moves on, leaving the decaying dead to their insufficient graves. She did not bless their way, and she would not, could not. Suddenly, a scent wafts to her, and as she continues on her path, she calls out to the stranger – or the familiar face – in query. ”If you are brave enough you would show your face. If not, cease your shadowing, I have no need of followers.” She would not tolerate anyone following her, nor would she allow them to continue such a thing. Her heart is heavy, and now – though she is rather happy with it – so is her frame. She has eaten well, made sure that the ones growing in her womb were well looked after, and now should this new wolf prove to be a threat she will unleash the caged beast within herself, pregnant or not. Her darkness matches her imprints, and she is not afraid to use it should she have to. The numbness would be a reprieve from the dragging on of raw emotion, a break from the shattering of her heart. Devil's words sticking in her mind. It had hurt her, his confession. That to be with her would weigh him down, restrain him somehow. She knew it to be a lie, but still she could not get the words out of her mind. I cannot choose it. How could he not? The call, the need, the hollowness with separation. This was the prison, this was the hell of imprinting. To be with him would bring her freedom, would bring him freedom.

For now, she must deal with this other, keep her mind from wandering to her hellish imprint. That fiend who stole her heart, body and soul. That selfish wolf who would have her walk the earth as half of a whole that would never find the other side, all because it did not wish to be made whole. He could not choose her. She growls, her treacherous mind flitting to him, every other thought consumed by him. She hated and loved him, despised and exalted him. He was her obsession as much as she was his, but would he ever chose her? Could he? She tried to tell herself she didn't care, that she wouldn't let herself give a damn. She had attempted happiness apart from him, failed at it, miserably in fact. She has resigned to the idea that she will never find happiness, she cannot find a wolf to get her mind from Devil long enough to be truly happy. There is one wolf who holds the key to such a thing, one wolf who could care enough to give her such a life, but he chooses not to free either of them.

Another growl, and she turns her head, shaking out her mind and fur. Now was not the time to curl him in her thoughts or heart. She continued walking, following the scent of Fathom all the way back toward Diveen. A ghost following her lost child back home. It is a pitiful thing to see, this female walking alone, dull and split in half. To know that she would always be so was a terrible burden on her, and caused her more stress than was necessary, but she keeps her nose to the ground and her pace a steady slow walk. A funeral procession for her daughter, given by a wolf with no soul.