When she was born, she was born into a world of blood. I remember it well. The very floor of her den had been bathed in it and the children, they too had been marked for days by the stains of her ordeal. It had been the first time I had seen weakness in her. She would not wake and she would not move; several times, I considered ending it for her and yet, I resisted each time the thought toyed in the back of my throat. I do not know entirely why that was. I would simply look at her dark fur and the children nestled in them and I would hold back. I would turn from the den and go elsewhere, hunt for her when I could and take the broken bodies of hares and pheasants to she and the children as they grew. For whatever reason, it made her leave. Is it strange, I wonder, to remember the day that a particular scene ceases to exist? It is why I do not lash out at Ehiyeh. It is why I wait idly for her to compose herself. Part of her reminds me of it all.

Dreadfulness. It is the word that brings me back. I narrow my eyes in response, mirroring her as she pauses. It is this silence that seems to move forever, and I feel my body prickling with anticipation. I twist a singular ear back towards the way she has come from, listening closely to the land beyond for any others. We are alone and yet, I cannot help but feel she did not expect it to the be case.

I do not even need to question her. It comes out only a moment later. My ears twist forward and I find myself taking a cautious step forward, allowing her to hush her voice if she so desires as she divulges this dreadfulness she feels she has performed. Yew. It is something that Hadrian would surely prefer. It is a smart thing, I think, and yet it is not the dread that she fears. The prey belonged to the alpha of Taviora. I see her eyes flash towards me and yet, I merely lift my head slowly. She continues and I remain silent, considering her words with a sniff of the air. Perhaps she will fear reprimanding as the silence stretches on. Perhaps she will fear that I will lash out at her and take Taviora's revenge for them. Perhaps I will drag her back to the forests, kicking and screaming as I toss her to them like fresh meat. Yet, I do none of this.

I lower myself to her level now, my head slowly tilting as I blink at her, furrowing my brows as if I do not understand entirely. "You said it yourself," I say with a shrug, "we are no different to a bear or a cougar. We hunt and we do as they do. Killing one of our own: is it so different to killing one of them?" I ask her earnestly, my head falling onto its opposite axis with curious intent. To be sure, Amoxtli is a good wolf and a favorable leader but it does not mean he is entirely different to any other. He is but the same as any other wolf - a predator, sometimes prey, and sometimes even less.

"Taviora is full of healers," I say simply, though my words cut off with taut lips to affirm that I am, indeed, correct. "Blood and sickness is an attention seeking thing. They found him, this you can be sure of." I have lived in Taviora, after all. I know their borders well enough to understand they are well guarded, well watched. It is where Zeltzin lives, an attentive woman with the healing knowledge needed; they have others, too. I remember their dens. They always smelled foul in the mornings despite their position by flowers and trees.

I rise then, slowly but surely as I survey the area once more. I am not sure I have given her the answers she desires. Should I punish her? I see no reason to. "What would you have me do?" I inquire once more, my eyes resting on her as I breathe out a sigh of my own. I am prepard to do as I fit and yet, I owe it to the dark woman to at least her our child out.