When it was being so that I is being Queen I is not always finding time to leave my pack, to walk amongst free lands and take a time most peaceful all to myself- for always I am busy, always I am being rushed to so or see or speak and yet still I is loving this, for all my life I is being Queen and I is knowing little else save for this and yet…. I is thinking perhaps there is a thing most pleasant in allowing my son now to rule. It is with a pace and calm this day that I make my way across the fields. Forever there will be ache in my chest and within my soul for the Father I is losing and yet I is thinking now only they he is being with Mother, that he is being a peace and though always I is missing him and always I is wishing for him to be beside me I is knowing indeed- we will meet again and until that time is so I will hold close his memory so very dear and see him within all those whom are born from him in turn. He is not so very gone, if only we may see him in others and in this I is choosing to find peace my own as I lope this day.

I is being older now, this is true, yet my pelt is being of a white most lovely, Angel mark aglow within the light and limbs striding forward with sureness still. Perhaps my ruff is being lopsided a bit, perhaps my pelt is hiding scars of battles and yet I is thinking most surely that each is being mark of the fight within myself others is believing does not exist. I is retiring undefeated in battle and while I do not find the blood of another a thing most joyous to be honoured I is pleased, in this at least, that I am being as my Father before me. Always I is carrying scars of Purge- but each scar is sign only of each victory of myself. Angels is always carrying swords- we is simply using them only when it is being needed so.

It is a voice of another this day that sees my form pause atop the slowly fading snow of winter, eyes of violet seeking he whom should speak- for I had believed myself alone this day and grown content in that pleasure- though indeed I is looking forward to returning to Diveen and my Kane and my Achilles for there are to be many born to the Angel pack this year and I is being greatly pleased in this. To be a grandmother once more is a thing most lovely. For now however, it is so that my attention has come to rest upon another as he sits and speaks, though to whom I cannot say- though his scent remains familiar.

I is remembering this wolf form many months ago, remembering his demands and remembering indeed the manner in which I is refusing to allow him to stay within my pack, delicate features given to frown perhaps in this moment though I is given to approach still- for I is not finding myself afraid of one so aged or of one so misguided. I is thinking perhaps, it is they whom are most misguided that seem to come against the might of Angels over and over, Baphomet, Ishtar, Purge, Covet and Zeus in turn- all is trying to find fault with my family and all is failing. For our family is most vast and always we is finding strength in each other. My form is halting some strides from him, this one I remember, this one I speak to because it is so I is finding myself before him and to walk past without words is a rudeness I will not display. Perhaps I is not seeing as he does, perhaps I is finding discord with him for that which he has done and that which I have not and will not forget- and as such my words is….cool this day, spoken without so much warmth perhaps as I offer them all the same.

"Who is you talking to, Zeus?"