To some this winter was chilly but it was also moody. At times it was positively frigid. The blades of grass and reeds snapped beneath large paws in the morning frost and on other days the sun sparkled tauntingly down, warming them and flirting with the idea of spring. It would be a few more weeks yet before the first thawing and Aithne had begun to grow heavy with child. While she only carried two her body had seen to it that she was more than ready, her belly rapidly expanding and stretching and she added a whole new layer of fat beneath her coat. She was not the wolfess whose sides merely poked out - her whole body too to the task. She was a bulky creature by nature anyways but now she seemed more like a bear than a wolf, lumbering along with a scowl on her maw because of the constant increase in hormones and hunger. Aggression has become a daily thing, her need to release the tension often allayed over a fallen log in the swamps. No doubt some of her members had come across them and wondered who had put such gouge marks in them and left the ground littered with splinters.

Praetor was a devoted mate - he hunted with her and tried as much as possible to have food ready before she grew hungry again. While she knew she was not the easiest to live with, especially during this new cycle, she felt a bit of guilt at his constant work. Likely she didn't give him as much praise as she should yet she was always beset by these furious emotions that it was hard to calm herself enough to express them. Usually the moment she ate a big meal she passed out, sleep dragging her into the realm of shadows. Today she moved along the water's edge, pausing at some spots to dig into the damp mud. It presses between her toes, not nearly as slimy as during the winter but just as stiff, and searches for anymore hibernating frogs. They hid beneath that mud, she knew it, but she had likely hunted all of Iromar dry with her daily cravings for the amphibious creatures.

A russet backed ear flicks around at the sound of movement, her head lifting and nostrils widening to catch the scent of her Raptor. She had not seen much of Denali in a while but she knew the female was around, often catching her scent along the border that Aithne was usually so set on combing. She spies the smaller wolfess as she walks in her own world, hesitating only for a moment before barking loud and rough to draw her attention. "Denali. I am glad to see you are well," she grunts, splitting her attention between digging, looking, then peering at Denali. "How is Astaroth?"

Seven - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne