It is not but a moment after she lowers her stout head that she is rewarded with the song of another, seeking permission to enter and yet there is a thread of determination within his strong vocals. Dark emerald eyes sweep the moors around her, ears flicking to and fro and she listens to the sound of her kingdom and her lips twitch into a secretive smirk. Let this stranger come, if he so dared, and so she does not raise her voice to meet his once more. It was a test of sorts to see how driven he is but also to find out the quality of this wolf. So many thought to just stride into a pack without proper notice that she grew furious anytime a wolf did. Tithe had called, he had answered her summons even if it had not been one, and she would wait to see this stranger who wished to see the moors for himself.

From a distance she spies the visitor as he draws closer. Aithne does not move from her position and while her tail does not lift higher than the line of her back it is clear that she holds herself in a position of authority here. No one could ever mistake her for a mere pack member anymore, although she had once been just that. Her face remains impassive as he draws closer, gaze taking in the steel of his coat and the darkness beneath it. The imperturbable expression on her face breaks the moment that he bows, lips raising into a pleased sort of smile at him; that he shows respect and knows her name means he is from Molodian and not a stranger passing through. There is a slight dip of her maw, a gesture that recognizes his own and accepts it for the deference it is, and her smile only grows deeper as he lowers himself to the ground, clearly ready for an audience.

In a peaceful maneuver, she sits for this is her land she holds her own here, but she allows him this to ease any worry at having offended her with his presence. In fact, she is intrigued by this stranger, and he is open from the start. Wolf to wolf, he wishes, and a burning look comes to her eyes for she thinks that this will be quite enjoyable. "Wolf to wolf, Tithe," she agrees in her coarse vocals. "What shall we speak on then? The tidings of Spirane, the shift in power, the upcoming winter?" Of course she had smelled the thick fresh air that clung to his pelt. It was her duty to know such things and Tithe did nothing to hide it. While her words are nonchalant there is a curious tone to them, wondering what sort of wolf comes merely for conversation without diplomacy. An interesting one, that was for sure.

Nine - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne