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.

Golden eyes watch her son, wondering just how the time had passed by so quickly. She remembered when he had been deaf, blind and wet with birthing fluids. She remembered the first time she saw his eyes gazing into hers. She remembered the first time he called her Mother. She knew all these moments individually. She was the mother of eight strong, healthy Demons but she remembered each of them individually. She wanted to offer her son some food, send him to Paldor to be healed but she had a sinking suspicion that it had more to do with the mind than with the body. Paldor would do no good in fixing any mind, let alone her son's complexity. And yet, he was not a pup at her teats any longer. He should be out fighting battles, siring litters to prove his worth, and laughing with other males over the weakness of others. He should of stayed in Hell to grow up properly, with other strong bloodlines. He should not have come to the outskirts of the knowledge of Hell. He should not have been left alone with only her line being the strength of Demons. What possibly worthy creature could he find here to expand her line? She recognizes the folly in bringing her children here. Here there were imprints, random pairings of apparent souls. In Hell, there were battles, wars and stories. In Hell, Saqr would of never become the sliver of a Demon that he was currently.

He speaks, as if he was dying. She stiffens as if the words were a knife into her soul, tearing at the very fabric that held together. Her immediate response was anger, and the slightest wrinkle developed in the blackened muzzle. The slightest bit of canine exposed to the elements. "No." It slithers out of her mouth almost unbidden. It was a simple denial that she had failed so badly in raising her children as Demons that Saqr wanted to leave the home she had carved out of Iromar. Baphomet had started the hole, but it is she that laid down roots, that had withstood the test of time. Pain pierced her heart of hearts, the heart that only Haedes could see these days. Did he really think that she would allow such a thing?

He asks for a blessing. For her tongue to sanction his mission far from the Demonic holdings in this damned land that had ripped her heart out more times than she cared to remember and given her it back again. If she ever made it back to Hell, she would rip the throats of the Elders that sent her. She was meant to be a warrior on the battlefields. She struggled with her position here on the outskirts. "Do you hate me so? Have I failed you so badly?" A strangled cry breaking from the depths of her own heart. A break in the cold exterior of the Blood Mouth. The hair on her the nape of her neck rose, her voice mixed with emotions ranging from anger to such hurt that she thought perhaps her world was ending for the second time. She stands, her tail rigid and flying high above her haunches. She inhales once to hold the breath and to stay her teeth upon his hide. Her stance seems only to "Go. You do not have my blessing but as you are my son--you are my flesh and my blood, you are my future and my legacy, you will not be cursed. Should you stray from the Demonic code, I will end you myself." She growled, turning towards her den where the rest of her future lay. She turned her head her voice cold and hard. "Go now Saqr. Go before I change my mind."

ISHTAR.