The day of burning skies is a day that should never be forgotten in Moladion’s history. However, time was the best healer and soon there will not be a wolf alive that had witnessed that fateful day. The land has healed, wolves have been born, explored the ruins, made this place their own and then passed on leaving nothing but bones. The never ending cycle of life, death and maybe rebirth. Maybe such horrific events should be forgotten, and remain as nothing more than legends recounted for ears that wish to learn. Her hazy orange gaze strays to the night sky above them where she watches fuzzy black clouds sailing above them. She can't see the stars, but she knows they are there, twinkling down on them all down here on earth. She wonders for a moment if her family is up there? And which one of them will come for her when her time here comes to an end? Or maybe no one would come for her and she will be left to walk the night skies alone. At least she will now leave behind two wolves that knew her and cared for her.

A stray cough breaks her out of her morbid thoughts and she rubs her nose against one of forelimbs. Lillyheart senses the turmoil in her dark companion as he gingerly lowers beside her. She stares at him with one cloudy eye and a slight smile flickering across her lips. It takes a special kind of soul to feel protective towards an old monster like her. Elohim owed her nothing, she was just a stranger, a dead wolf walking. Yet here he was, a child of sand and sea, the dutiful guardian of Glorall. He speaks to her in such a soft voice and he chooses the most comforting of words for her old ears to hear. She finds herself slowly leaning in towards him as he continues to speak. Her old bones curl around his dense black fur and defined muscles. She feels his warmth and his strength. Please don’t shy away from me, my bright guiding light.

He mentions that the blood of her beloved alpha and his son still live on. She feels her black heart ripping into two as he offers to escort her to the remains of her old home and perhaps beyond that. Lifting her head she locks her dull orange eyes with his. There is a familiarity there in those red depths, blurry as it was for her, and Lillyheart finds her eyes narrowing as she tries to recant if she had ever seen those eyes before. Perhaps within another face? A few awkward seconds tick by before a wide grin spreads across her lips, ”Yes, I would like that very much, Elohim.” She senses no dishonesty beneath that unwavering shell. There was no reason not to trust him. Besides, she now had nothing to lose even if he was playing a rotten trick on her, which shehighyl doubted.

Lowering her head once more this time she buries half her face beneath the black fur cascading off his rounded shoulders. Her ghastly white form against his striking black, the duo were like yin and yang on the sands. “Why couldn’t I have found someone as magnanimous as you underground?” She sighs before lightly chuckling. A small yawn escapes from between her jaws and she closes her eyes. “I will rest here for now, thank you, guardian of Glorall for your kindness and hospitality.” Lifting her white tail she sprawls it across his hips, even in her age she never lost her flirtatious streak. “Stay with me please,” she asks in a whisper, “or at least wait until I have drifted off before you move on.” Her voice trails off as another yawn takes her and she lightly smacks her lips together. Oh how she would love to stay and chat with him all night, but age has robbed her of her stamina. Oh how she wishes she was back in her prime right now. She was so elegant, strong and strikingly beautiful. Would you believe that? Protector of the flooded isles?

“My son,” she’s almost completely fallen asleep by the time she decides to say something nice about the wolf she had raised in the darkness, “he has a heart of gold.” A small whimper escapes her throat, “I tried to raise him to be an assassin, I tried to mold him to become something that I had longed to become. But,” she takes one long shuddering breath, “he doesn’t have a killer’s instinct.” Lifting her left leg she places it over her eyes which muffled the last of her musings. “I don’t think Hyperion was his father, perhaps …. Lucian? …. Or Raz-Raz-ail-Ra.” Now the only sound that is coming from between her frail front limbs are gentle snores.