 It was to be expected really that Aithne would end up in the marshes of the the world even after she wandered outside of Iromar. The marshes of home were of a comforting variety for she had survived among them for long enough to know each route. She took pride in each silent step through the swampy kingdom knowing that Andras relied heavily upon her. There is a headiness to having such power even when one does not particularly want it; it was not that Aithne seeks out power from some sort of need. She had found a place in Iromar and a life of ease, despite what others might think of the swamps, and above all else there is a loyalty to Aithne that is bone deep. She is loyal - loyal to Iromar even if not incredibly fond of Andras, for it is her home and Aithne wants only to see it flourish. So that is why she finds herself embroiled in the fog of the swamps, her thick body sitting with poise as she looks out with keens eyes through the opaque mists for any wandering souls. If one might look for her in swamps they could easily miss her formidable presence for the backdrop of a twisted tree right behind her; her ebony fur blends seamlessly into the shadows except the broad white spot on her chest and one white forepaw. Russet fur begins behind her ears and tapers down her back, two trails that become obsidian at her hips and her dark emerald eyes compliment the picture with a red ring around her right pupil. Yet Aithne, she is not a dainty female. She is build tall and thick, with stalwart shoulders, thick legs, and a wide jaw. She is not the traditional beauty - she is a warrior, with fangs strong enough to rip open a jugular, and yet Aithne was not pressed to such heights of violence. Not even coming from a land as harsh as hers had been, where the earth turned against the world and starvation was all that was common. She sees him as he comes. Kneph is a lovely sort of coloring even though she cannot make it out for certain at the distance between them. Even as he comes to a halt to stare into the marsh and swallow the stale scent of the water, Aithne watches. She watches the way his body seems to tense and jerk and the snarl that lines his maw. What did he see in the swamps? Her eyes narrow upon him, mind running, and Kneph turns to leave. Was it worth it, she thinks? Worth chasing him down, chatting with him, offering him a place in the swamplands? Clearly there was something there on the male. Aithne had had quite enough of crazy in her last forays. Still, she HAD managed to bring home a male - whom she had made a point to let know she thought he was insane - that Andras had once known. Doubtful she'd get so lucky this time but it didn't look like any other travelers were willing to near the marshes. So Aithne stands and thrusts her large body after him, jumping across the watery pools with ease born from living amongst the same. Here, at least, the gators had taken to deeper waters. She clears the marshes quickly and the mists conjure her up as one of the ghosts that Kneph runs from, swirling around her until she is spat from the area and on his heels quick. Yet Aithne does not wish to startle him, slowing as she nears his smaller figure. To her he is tiny, short and thin, but she has never been one to judge without knowing first anyways. "Why do you run from the marshes?" Her voice seems to match her less than ideal frame for it is scratchy sounding, not the sweet tempered dulcet sounds of some females, and she pauses, one paw raised to see how he might take her appearance. A I T H N E Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing; bow down to the mighty _______________________ |