A pack wolf already! So soon? It made her sick. It made her blood foul with indecency. It had only been one season and she hadn't been able to cut it. No, had it been? Had it been that? Or had she been stolen without ever having been made aware? She went in circles, she did, round and round. Did it even matter? By name, she was Iromar now. What would Thoth say? She had always understood his silence. And father? Their souls had found paths that lead to life. Yet hers lead her into the moors, into the shadows. He must have been blind in one eye if she had been the light of it.
Yes, it made her sick. But all things in life were temporary, like life itself. Who could say how long any part of this would exist? For now, she was but a wanderer who had merely found a new path to follow. Besides, she held no love for that man, that Blackthorne. She was drawn to the moors for the dead who wept and celebrated his cause; some said he was unworthy, others laughed in amusement and some gave hushed approval. Perhaps she had been fortunate to not hear them when they spoke of how he took the pack from beneath a mother's paws. Would she be blamed for her ignorance?
Thoth merely stared in response. His eyes swam in the mist and she turned away as she roamed the sloped paths that lead towards the moors' heartlands. Her eyes had drifted into half-moons, her dead ear slack at her head as it bounced along while the other searched the moors for the strange calls of its animals. It was an unusual place - empty, dark. She had a feeling there had been life here once but now? Ah, now she was not so sure.