The den itself seemed to be cursed by some sort of powerful and ancient spell, perhaps from the noxious, quiet mutterings of her mother in the dead of night. Adonai sat for a moment in quiet disbelief, the wildness in her eyes dimming from fanaticism into despondency. For her entire existence she had acted as the neutral party, as a quiet and unobtrusive observer-- one who gathered information but seldom did anything with it. As a consequence, she sensed that her emotions had never developed fullness, they had never rounded out into something resembling the true nature of happiness or sadness or anything else. There was still a certain sort of spectrum, but it was dimmed. Distant. But upon finding the empty den she had felt a raw, fearful anger, that had set her heart pounding and filled her mouth with thick spit. Ehiyeh was gone. Who should she run to, now?

It seemed, however, that all she needed to do was to sit in one place for long enough. Adonai's ears flicked, recognition stirring in her features. Her head turned and regaled the ashen form of her uncle, his fur the color of a fire-stricken forest, his eyes holding the intensity of the ember that sparked the flame. She was uncomfortable, suddenly-- as her pale eyes were vulnerable, her cheeks stained with tears. The woman had always been anodyne in front of him, passive and unobtrusive. But she had laid herself bare and not given herself enough time to bundle up again. All of the protection that neutrality offered was gone, dashed against the rocks-- it had been swallowed up by the den that had swallowed up her mother.

Adonai let her head rest at a tilt, almost as if the effort of keeping it upright was too much to bear. She managed to meet his eyes, and let him search her gaze for whatever he might be looking for. The woman kept quiet for a moment, steadying her breath. Perhaps she could not put herself back together quite yet, but she could, at the very least, keep up the illusion. While an illusion it may be, it would at least save them both from the awkwardness of being open. Conversations were better held with a little bit of guardedness. It was the fear of pressure and tension that kept one sharp, after all, and Adonai was not willing to let her guard down any further.

She straightened herself, turning away from the yawning mouth of the den. "I do not know where she is." She said in heavily accented English. For why else would he have come? While he had always been a lurking presence, they had never exactly been... close. Elohim did not seem the type to fret over most anyone-- he was, unfortunately, still a mystery to her. "Ego sinistram, ne quidem sciunt cum illa."("I do not even know when she left.")