The season had been a glorious one and one filled with such sorrow. There was nothing quite as blissful as having her children press up against her, waking her with their needle-sharp teeth and begging for play. Ankh, the ambitious one, Arthfael, the thoughtful one, Alistair, the quiet one, and Alexander, the protective one. She watched every day as they grew, gently scolding their bad behavior and praising their good behavior, teaching them the values of kindness while also sowing in seeds of wariness. Always, always, always be careful of strangers, she repeated. She told them that when Ankh had inquired about the scars along her shoulders and the puckered scar above her right brow. The memory of Lillith would always be in her mind and would always leave a taste of ash in her mouth. Yet it also led to the thought of Sven.

Natu had been regaining her strength and the children did not need constant care anymore. Even so, the den was always full of wolves, except it was now short a few wolves. Their deaths are a blow to the memory of happiness. Watching the blood soaked figure of Everlyse sink to the side of Ifrit in mourning, to watch as her children realized what had happened, to know that the golden Neirin would never get to find love elsewhere. Seamus was only half a wolf, for now, and how could one be only half a wolf? And Fenrir - she knew the pain in his pale green eyes, the deep sorrow that seemed to echo in his chest repeatedly. All she could do was offer him her comfort, her sweet touches and silent love. She was his heart mate but they were his brothers and kin and she knew that Seamus would not last for long; it was a sense of doom that laid upon her.

But as things began to settle into a hushed sense of peace once more - the kind of peace with discord lying just beneath - Natu had left Ankh, Alexander, and Arthfael with Fenrir and set off towards Spirane. It would be an uneasy moment, she knows, but she had to find Sven. Had to salvage some of the happiness, to bring him back so he could help her with his siblings and so he could know she had never forgotten him. She just had been trying to raise the children, add some weight to her still skinny figure, and comfort her mate.

She had not left alone, though. She had indicated to Alistair that he could come with her. In a way it was an attempt to bolster her resolve and to spend some one on one time with her deaf son. Because she had finally come to the conclusion he just couldn't hear her, so she made every effort to teach him things in a silent sort of manner. He would be quite handsome when he grew up, she thinks, his upper face a mask of black and lower body bright white. He and Arthfael were like opposites, Alistair dark at the top and bright at the bottom. She measures her steps so that he does not grow too tired tromping by her, pausing every now and again to touch her nose to his head to reassure herself while her eyes constantly scan around to make sure there are no other wolves nearby.

Then the howl rises and her freezes, tail lifting; the howl, she knows, is for her. And it sends a rock right into her stomach as her breath catches. Something is terribly wrong. Immediately she leans down and scoops him up in her mouth by his scruff before lunging into a swift run. She spies Swallowbane sitting by the river, recognizing him instantly as a brother to Daenerys and one of her old pack mates. She trots to him, gently depositing her son before her as she stops in front of him with pale eyes wide, one paw pressing into Alistairs side as a way to ground herself. "What? What is it?"

It might be rude but her voice is breathless, her heart hammering, and her ears fold back - not in anger, but worry.