A low growl escapes her throat as she stretches her neck, feeling the knotted muscles slowly un-kink from her constant straining to try and groom herself. Normally Aithne wouldn't put in such effort but it had been awhile since she had done so and her fur had begun to get itchy and uncomfortable. She had arisen with a groan of dread knowing that most of her morning would be spent in discomfort. Still, the results would be relaxing. Aithne had went down to the riverside just outside of Iromar where the water ran the clearest at this time of year and had found a spot on the bank where the water still ran and the ice had yet to thicken. It hadn't taken but a slam of her paw to break it up and then she had, bravely, thrown herself into the water. It took a few moments for the icy liquid to pierce the thick armor of her winter pelt but once it did her body seemed to seize for a moment, her lungs screaming for air as she tries to keep herself beneath the water until she can't stand it any more.

Only then did she push to the surface, breaking it with her jaws open and water sluicing off her. She rapidly moves to the bank and shakes her fur out, her body trembling as a frigid wind cools her wet body even more. Aithne was nothing if not tough, though, so she blinks away the discomfort and shakes herself out more, moving to an area with more dead grass than dirt and sits down. Then she sets to cleaning herself, licking furiously and yanking at matted fur with her small teeth until her natural body heat begins to push out any hint of cold and the wind helps dry her fur. Over and over she cranes her neck - down her legs, her side, back to her tail, and finally her body feels worn out from the complete overhaul but her fur was clean. Maybe not straight or sleek like some wolves but it was at least clean and warm.

It is as she finally grows exhausted from her ministrations that the call breaks the air in the distance and her head snaps up, nostrils flaring and ears swiveling. Praetor, and he calls for her. Her heart leaps in her throat as it always does when it comes to him. She does not notice that snowflakes have begun to fall for her body arises, tense muscles screaming in protest in a way not even fighting seemed to inspire, and she lifts her thick muzzle to the sky. A short coarse howl rings through the air that announces her intent to come to him even as she cuts off abruptly, her body pulling into a sturdy lope that quickly takes her to her borders once more and onward in the direction he had called from.

The deeper in Iromar she goes the thicker the vegetation is, still in a half-dormant state but not completely gone like some of the territories in Molodian. The marshes did well for holding a more mild temperature during winter even if they could suffocate in the summertime. She finds him in the clearing with the moss and the trees give them an air of intimacy, set away from the other wolves. A sigh escapes her lips, so soft as to not exist, the moment she sees him. She had not realized how tense she had become without his presence so close.

Having him in Iromar soothed a part of her that had been on edge since they had first met. Just his presence had helped her since she had freed Andras from his body and she was searching high and low for Raven and clues as to what happened to her. Most of the time she hesitated in touching him but now she moves with confidence (and clean fur will do it to you!) straight up to him and presses her face into his shoulder so that they are at a 90 degree angle of one another. "Hello," she says simply, unable to think of more as she sinks in his presence and his scent.

Six - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne