It is the scent of blood that propels her forward. Aithne has been circling the border most of the day in her usual manner, large paws driving her across ever familiar landscape with ease and there is something relaxing about this steady rhythm. When she crosses the spot where Paldor had entered is when she knew something was off; her muscles tensed as fur stood on end, a low growl bubbling up from her lips as the memory of Kaius coming to finish off Denali pops into her head. He had died but that didn't mean there weren't others out there wishing to harm her wolves. Aithne was possessive over Iromar and protective over all it's inhabitants. The very idea that one would cross her borders to get at one of her wolves or even attack them outside of the protection of Iromar infuriated her. The scent of Paldor is familiar to her, like a memory, but she cannot quite focus on it for the alarming stench of blood. Drops of it are smeared across the ground in the path that Paldor took, directly to the busiest part of Iromar, and she moves at a lope towards it before his broken howl makes her auds swiftly prick forward.

It is a pained called. This male is hurt and is asking for assistance. It is only as she draws near him that Aithne recognizes him. Barely. He was here when she had first come to Iromar, mate of Ruvindra, whom she had met the day she had met Praetor. A day she would never forget. Although they had never met personally she had been Minos then and as such had taken her duties seriously so that she knew everyone that had been here.

This male.. he was not the same as the one then. Her eyes widened in shock as she comes to a very slow walk around him, blinking in surprise at the severity of his wounds. Whoever had done this had not intended for him to make it out alive. His tail... well, there was no tail anymore. His shoulder was out of place, gaping wounds everywhere and his eye! Her mouth twists down in disgust at the sight; flies had already begun to gather around him, eager for the open wound to fester and for them to feast. His leg was broken by the looks of it and she wonders if he will even make it. If infection spread to his heart there would be no coming back - he would be a corpse among corpses in Iromar.

"I will try to find you a healer," she says, her coarse voice loud as she looks at the spot with the missing ear. "Can you tell me who did this to you?" She jerks her head around, searching for anyone to come and show her what to do - what COULD she do? She had very little in the way of healers. Praetor, she thinks, and she searches frantically for him with her eyes, but what if he didn't even know enough? There is nothing here to palliate the wounds before her eyes and Aithne, frankly, holds little hope for him to survive.