She had heard the cry.

It had spurred her to wakefulness many moons before, her tail standing stiff in an upright position and a look of bewilderment that fast spread into something like determination. Halcyon had called upon the mother of Raven for a battle for his homelands. Truthfully Aithne was not overly shocked by it. She suspected that the young warrior would one day turn to the demons that haunted him. Such memories dogged him day in and day out, much like her own youth had done until she had settled into Iromar and been handed the reins. Andras had been the one to spy potential in Aithne - he had given her work and she had learned that she was better than what she had once been. Her beginning had shaped her but the shaping was never finished. It just took forms in different life choices.

Worry had gnawed at her for a time when he hadn't returned that day but she had taken it upon herself to trace her way to the battlegrounds and while the scent of blood, both of theirs, had mingled in the dirt, there had been no lingered stench of death and decay. Wherever Halcyon was, he was alive and nursing wounds. Probably his pride too as Tick Tock had not relinquished her throne. It had taken willpower to not send trackers out to locate him. She had to give him time to come to terms with whatever he needed to before he returned to Iromar.

It is no surprise really when the somewhat sorrowful song of Halcyon beckons to her. Aithne had been sitting at the edge of the river as was her normal location but the moment his call rises so does she. Her large figure lumbers in the direction that he awaits, spotting his figure from a distance and noting the healing wounds still upon him. He had grown so much since the mangy pup he had once been. Small though he would ever be, he was the son of Iblis and Rhae, a King and Queen respectively, and if truth be told, as much a son to Aithne as her own children.

She slows as she nears him, nose twitching at the scents of Asteraia that cling to him. "You have returned and smell of the plains but you are no King of them, I see." Her coarse tones rend the air but they are not unkind, merely a statement. "You should have told me you were alright. I worried for you." It was a slight chastisement, but not for the reasons he might have originally thought. "While I have ruled Iromar for these past few years I have watched as you grew. You have made me proud in everything, even this." She sits now, watching him with intelligent eyes, knowing suddenly what she needs to do.

Sometimes one must sacrifice in order to achieve.

"When I first came to Iromar things were different. Andras was a different wolf than me - that did not make him bad. Just different. He wanted to see a different future for the moors and thus, in the end, he bequeathed them to me. I was not ready and perhaps I still am not, but sometimes when you are least ready is when you are best able to handle it. Just because I have it does not mean that I should always keep it and because of this, young princeling, I task you with this. It is time for me to take my place among the pack once more. The youth need their time and it is now yours as King of Iromar. This is more your home than the plains ever will be and you will do right by it. What do you say?"

It is perhaps the longest speech she has ever given but she doesn't regret it. She merely watches him with a complacent expression to await how he would take such news.

Nine - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne