Life in Molodian had become quite precarious as of late. Multiple attacks led by a multitude of wolves had left the loner population quite unsettled. Even those in packs were no longer safe from the wild bands of would-be murderers lurking in each crevice and crag. Aithne was on constant alert, what with the change in hands that all the packs were doing. So far the only two packs not moving were that of Iromar and Spirane and Aithne would keep it that way if at all possible. It left her uneasy that Jaidah was once more roaming the freelands, for she had not much care for the white wolf after her short stint in Iromar. She had taken quite a dislike to her from the very beginning with her disregard for the ways of life, her disrespect in the fair rules Aithne had set down to her, and then to the way she had tried to attack one of Iromar's inhabitants. Avery had been quite put out to lose the female and Aithne had been keeping an ear about for the wench for a while, leaving her to her own devices in Asteraia without inclination to extend a helping paw.

So much was changing around her and Aithne, well, sometimes she felt vertigo. From left and right she was hit by news. Angels, Demons, Rulers, and the Crazed. She sat at a pond not so far from her den but out of sight of it, one large paw pressed to the very edge of the water as if tempting fate. Would the alligators rise up in revolt againt their Dragon Slayer? They had feasted upon the body of a mighty queen already and in the body of that reptilian creature they had bonded, all of them, and new bonds were formed. She felt a distinct longing now as she stares across the murky water, her soul wishing to drive her closer to her imprint. It was a relief having him so close and yet a torture too because she wanted more and yet the idea terrified her. It wasn't an idea that Aithne normally had... she wasn't herself.

She was evolving.

In this moment of restless uncertainty the close cry of Iscariot snaps her to attention, glazed eyes sharpening as her head jerks towards her den followed by the rest of her weighty body. There is little grace in Aithne, she was not built for such lean movements but she was a ram, built to slam through walls and hold her own. She spies him as she comes around a pile of brush from a fallen tree due to the last vicious storm that had raged through the marshes, flooding the already softened soil to extremes. There is something wrong with Iscariot, she can note this almost instantly and her eyes flick to the spot where he had been bit before, making sure that the wound had not suddenly grown bad even though much time had passed.

"Iscariot," she greets him, pausing before him and settling her haunches to the ground while staring inquisitively. "You have news." She is certain of it, in the way he stands with purpose even if there is an air of uncertainty about him that she had not seen from him thus far.

Six - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne