She is of wind and water, that blustery sea breeze that tossed salt and sand into the faces of those on shore and reminded them of just a little taste of being a part of the oceans would mean. She has always been a creature of flight and swiftness. When she had first come into this place, she had been the first to hunt fowl on the wing instead of in their nests. Two years of age, she had taught the Wild Woman Pompeii how to hunt as she did, though still the bulkier wolves had a harder time of it than herself.

Here she had learned to take gulls, leaping from the island cliffs, playing leap frog, almost, with the birds that flew too near and could be plucked from their hovering flight along the cliff face before hitting the water. pheasant too, it seemed, grew in a small number. Always they left the limited flight birds to grow and populate the island… but had the present alpha done such a thing? Cared for the creatures of prey that lived there so that they did not leave the island a barren plot of salty rock and tree?

When he shows himself, it is alone and with a look of curiosity - she does not know him well enough to say that she senses more - though she feels as though he expects her to be interesting for one reason or another. He is white, handsome, but worn in the way that sometimes males who become leaders often become in presence. "I heard you, though I noticed you were not exactly looking for anybody." he says, and she finds herself staring just a little longer in silence than she had thought she would. What did she say to a man who spoke the obvious, but that she did not want to seem rude or negligent towards?

Figure out what she had come. Sooner rather than later.

What she did know was why, in particular, she did not call to anyone or summon them as often wolves are arrogant enough to do… as if joining a pack was some great deed they were doing for the pack they approached. Only fools assumed they would be needed before ever meeting the pack they were trying to adjoin with. Glorall could be outright overrun and not in the mood to take more souls into her bosom. Not even old friends. "Me and my family have lost the right to summon anyone from this place to her borders long ago. I will not abuse the good will of Glorall by commanding someone to meet me, most especially not the one whose scent marks her boundaries." She acknowledges his power and rights immediately, lowering both head and tail, though her stance is a little stiffer than her exotic appearance should have allowed a creature like her to appear.

"I am Leviathan, Aunt of Weylin, Daughter of Jaye and Bahamut. I remember your scent when it was once filled with the mud of the Moors." She admits, though her openness does not hold the contempt for the Iromarian’s the way it might have if she were Weylin himself. Finley had not been her brother, not even at arms, and the wolves of black and red did not seem to (back then) be the wolves that Diveen often made them out to be. Iromar, she though, was just a place. The people in it notwithstanding.

"I used to be messenger of this pack, as well as healer under Sinopa. I came because I longed for the shore of my home on the island and my feet often do not allow me to refuse them a trip when they set their course." She teases, trying to lighten what she can of their conversation with dry mirth come from the strangeness of thought brought about by feet picking a path the thinker did not choose. "I did not hear tell of my nephew’s demise… What do you know of Weylin?"


The Last Daughter of Mirovis
[ female - eight - no mate - no imprint - wanderer ]