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

The ache in her hips cause her to sit slowly, satisfied that for the time being that the wolf in front of her was no creature of harm. Her hackles stayed on their ends until the other spoke, not in the Old Tongue but in the common tongue. Hepzibah wondered if the blood had diluted, if the old customs had been forgotten and layed to rest amid the bones that her mother had collected around her den. She still remembered the putrid and yet comforting smells had had hidden the stench of birth and pups. Hepzibah had done the same for her own litters, and yet here was her only remaining child. The others had been given missions and started their own packs, given birth to their own children--but they had not visited. There had been no update on their progress. For all the Spine of Hell knew, theirs had been just as much a failure as their birth pack. Perhaps it was best that the Demons return to Hell and yet here she was, trying to make sure that at least one of her kin survives. That her own blood line does not sputter out into a forgotten oblivion.

She considered the other cautiously as she listens to Sorath babble away like a brook heading to the sea. Her daughter reminded her so much of herself at her age. Strong headed. Loud spoken. Fearless. It was a pity that Demons had stolen away a childhood of play and growth. But then again, they say diamonds are only created under pressure. As she listened, she spoke towards Sorath first, "Pax Sorath." (Peace Sorath) A quiet command to not give away much more. Instead her honeyed eyes now turn towards the other. "You remind me of Lillith. My mother loved her dearly." A small grin (although it spoke of pain more than anything else) appeared on her features as she shifted her position once again. "A wolf of Iromar but not the Queen. Tell me, is it a sister or brother that holds the Marsh Throne? Or perhaps it is Lillith's daughter that holds the crown? My Mother always regretted leaving." She does not give away what happened to herself or to Sorath. It was better to keep up the farce of strength in the eyes of someone who looked as if their missing piece had just been found.

She looks down at Sorath for a moment, her eyes dilating as she considered the daughter that held her father's eyes and her own coat to match. She hoped she would be level headed as Balam. She wished he was here with them. "And what of the Angels here? Diveen?" She had remembered the war between them. That they had won. Even now the defeat brought the fresh wounds of her own defeat. Information was key in her next move. She wanted to know everything that she had missed if nothing else, to guide Sorath. The wild haired creature she had created would need all the guidance she could get.

WE CRAVE A DIFFERENT KIND OF BUZZ