AND WE'LL NEVER BE ROYALS
IT DON'T RUN IN OUR BLOOD
THAT KIND OF LUXE JUST AIN'T FOR US

She woke up with a start, a cold sweat at the back of her neck and the quiet that surrounded her placed the pang of fear in her heart. Where was her last remaining child? It was too quiet. Sorath didn't know the meaning of quiet. Her eyes were hazy and long distances were blurry these days. She blinked a few times to allow her golden irises to adjust and for the world to come back into focus. She heaved herself to her feet, cursing the child for not following instructions and cursing her hind legs for showing their age. She may have the Spine of Hell but her hips were decidedly not from the same stock. She stretched and limped for the first few hobbled steps before sharp pain went back to the dull ache that she could tolerate. She was getting too old for this. Perhaps it was a good thing that Balam had died in the last Angel attack. Hepzipah was quietly convinced that she was slowly dying and it would only be a matter of time before her soul would leave her body for the Caverns of Hell. She hoped to have Sorath ready for that when the time came.

Her nose scented the ground before finding the scent that she knew and she slowly made her way towards the Grotto. She remembered when these new lands were born, the smell of sulfur still burning in her nose. Hepzibah did not dare venture far from Iromar then, clinging to her mother's strong presence and the safety of the pack. Sorath was a hellbeast that Hepzibah knew she would never command the way Ishtar had commanded her. Perhaps it was still Ishtar that clung in the back of her mind that had brought her here. To the last place she truly remembered being safe. TO the last place she would probably live and the first place she had ever lived. She was too old to claim her throne back (not that Iromar had ever been hers) but Sorath had so much to learn.

Her yellowed eyes take a moment to adjust to the slivers of light the Grottos carried and yet it takes only a moment for the old wolf to walk into a potentially dangerous scene. A younger female with Sorath almost cornered. Her hackles raise, hiding the muscle wasting that made her shoulder blades stick out. Hiding the disease that was slowly eating away at her that she could not name. She looks towards Sorath expectantly, her tail arched over her back in a formality but with the slightest lack of vigor. A soft growl escapes her lips but she says nothing more for now. She would not bow down to the wolf that looked startingly similar to Lilith.

WE CRAVE A DIFFERENT KIND OF BUZZ