 Aithne was definitely not the typical vision for an Iromar wolf. There was a friendliness to her that some did not have. She was a strong wolf in her own right and one willing to make a stand. One that would never back down out of fear or intimidation. She did not possess the mean streak that a few of the demons seemed to harbor nor the strange fascination with all things morbid like Andras. Maggots and death did not remind her of death as he had said. It merely made her sick to the smell. To each his own, she thinks, but none could make Aithne see a certain way if they tried. So far she had not been ordered to do anything crazy from her King and the idea had begun to fester in her mind of aiming higher than even her status of Minos. Being a judge and jury was a decent enough position for her and considering her rather unflappable manner it was fitting, but she also had drive. She blinks when he speaks of Glorall. The waterside country is pleasant, she guesses, but she has found that Iromar has come to mean something to her. A home and even it's inhabitants were of value. Siren had crawled under her skin in that she was rather affectionate of the childish chit. Still, Tristan did not say that he was currently a part of Glorall only that he wished to return. That left room for negotiations. Then quite abruptly he begins on a litany about how his mother was dead because of him. Aithne's pupils widen, expanding the red ring around her right eye, and she is rather surprised by the outburst. She shouldn't be. It seemed she always walked straight into these sort of conversations. Samael had been blathering on about her and him and who knew what when she had found him and Siren was the kind to bemoan her life. It seemed Aithne had a knack for finding those traumatized and crazy. Why was this? It wasn't as if Aithne was a sympathetic character. She was more apathetic than anything as told by the way she stares at him with a carefully neutral expression, eying the way his eyes are glazed with tears and his body trembles in his own fervency. Every wolf has that one thing in life that defines them, she thinks. Hers was the rape that had finally loosened her hold on her former life. His was the murder of a mother he so adored. She lets him cry for a few minutes as the silence gathers around them with a weighty presence. "Have you looked for this wolf who killed her? It seems to me that you will never be satisfied until you have exacted vengeance upon her. Ah, there she is, calm and collected, a voice of reason in the midst of his maelstrom of emotions. A I T H N E Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing; bow down to the mighty _______________________ |