As lightning strikes in the heartland of Iromar Aithne thinks she would be content to spend the rest of her afternoon in her musty den. It was plenty enough room for her and Praetor and kept out most of the deluge. Just as she begins to lay her broad muzzle on her paws a yelp sounds right on the heels of a lightning strike and her head snaps up, ears pressed forward in an almost painful manner as she sniffs the air. That yelp had sounded terrified and her instincts as Empress demanded she rise and shuffle towards the front of her den. Her den had been positioned in the pathway to the throne of Andras although it could not be considered close to it and behind it ran the river that she often snuck off to looking for some thirsty animal to accost.

A shadow splits from the trees in the distance and races, tumbles, and rolls in the direction of the bone kingdom left by her predecessor. Instantly her tail rises, stiff and aggressive, her lips peeling back as a low growl rumbles from her chest. An intruder? ANOTHER? Disbelief lingers on her black face, her jade eyes snapping in fury as she bursts from her den and races to the spot the shadow had been intent on running down this interloper. They would suffer in a violent way for drawing her into the rain, it's barbs instantly soaking into her fur and bogging her down.

What makes her pause is the scent. It is faint for the rain masks it but it is there and it is so familiar. Siren. She had not been to see the girl in some time, remembering the way the Angel boy had hovered over her with protective glares as if Aithne had come to assassinate the forgotten Princess. It had been a blow to her to see Siren in such a state, her mind fractured and her fierce anger and fear. Only for Siren had she ever bowed herself, ever lowered herself in such a submissive posture, because she had always liked Siren even if before the girl had been too innocent. Now she wished that Siren had never lost that innocence, that Lillith had been happy for her daughter.

A sigh escapes her muzzle because she wonders who might be tracking Siren - would that white male come too? She hoped not, she hadn't really cared for him overmuch before even if she did praise his protective instincts. She jogs the way that Siren went, noting a much larger figure ahead now at the edge of Andras's graveyard. His rough voice rumbles into the air and her hackles rise at his aggressive nature, her own dominant figure moving fast towards him. What would he do when he realized this was Siren, his lost sister? She had never really discussed this with him out of fear that he might try to harm her. His snarl prompts Aithne to growl low, a growl that would commandeer his attention only a moment after he says Mother if he is paying attention.

"She is not your mother," Aithne says, her voice low and concerned as her eyes dip past Astaraoth when she moves to his side to spy Siren sitting haphazardly and staring at bones. "Siren," she says, her hoarse voice as soft as it had ever been before, cajoling. "Siren, how did you get here?" Because Siren was not right anymore, she was torn and conflicted, shattered by Roamin's death and then by her subsequent killing of Lillith. There was no WHY was she here because Aithne didn't think Siren would know. Her eyes cut to Astaroth now to watch him intently lest he grow aggressive with his sister, who Aithne had now revealed.

Seven - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne