Ouroboros Spine even atlas cannot stand forever

The wraith moves silently through the glade, making her way towards the direction of her former home with no intention of stopping by. She has come for her son, Atshen, whom she had promised eternity and left behind with the intention of returning. She had not. However, the woman had not forgotten her words: take my crown. Since then, she had wondered what became of it. Had he ruled with the confidence she believed he held? Had he forfeited to the pressures of those within? Never would she entertain the idea that in a bittersweet reality, her beloved son no longer lived. It would break her, push her beyond the plane of earthly comphrension with a desire to set the world aflame, watch it burn and then jump in herself. Unknowingly to her, such a fate would come in due time, but for now, the monarch walks steadily with an intent, an intent to see what has become of the land she used to know.

A loud queltch pulls her from her reverie into the consious world, and her head snaps instantly in the direction from which it came. She is unguarded, unprepared to face anyone just yet, and unlike herself, she finds that she is less than willing to investigate the sound. This is not her home anymore, and it has not been for several months. Those she knew have come and gone, and her formerly revered reputation has faded away with the north wind. The formerly prized red mark upon her shoulder has lost its prominence upon her shoulder, as well. This time, she has none behind her, for those who have sworn their fealty to her being lie far beyond the teekon in a land much harsher than the imfamous dark woods. Instantly, her mind wanders to Bane, whom she has not felt the touch of in many moons, and whom her heart extends wholly and only to. She risks them in returning to place she lost it all, and that simple fact is the driving nail which causes her to thunder forth, knowing that she, who has conquered more than many will in their entire lifetime, will not be the one crept up on. 

A hostile growl develops from within her as she draws nearer to the cause of the sound, hackles raised cautiously in a familar anticipation of one of the many enemies she had hoped to avoid upon her return. However, upon pushing through the thick growth of mud and trees, what stands before her is someone she has never seen before; someone who almost matches her husband's imposing stature, but accompanied by a youth she finds to be quite odd. If not for the pale-stirke markings, she would have mistaken this for her son. A low, yet audible release of air escapes her maw as the breath she had been holding in, in anticipation of who he may have turned out to be. She does not recognize him as one of her enemies, and for that, she halts the progression of her growl, but retains the stance of a woman without the patience to deal with those who have a bone to pick with her, just yet.