Skill:
![[Image: dc4m3i2-87e99cba-7abd-4524-9974-79197204...ovRCBg463c]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/8de06d9c-d383-4aad-acec-b5022eec4877/dc4m3i2-87e99cba-7abd-4524-9974-791972044b16.gif?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzhkZTA2ZDljLWQzODMtNGFhZC1hY2VjLWI1MDIyZWVjNDg3N1wvZGM0bTNpMi04N2U5OWNiYS03YWJkLTQ1MjQtOTk3NC03OTE5NzIwNDRiMTYuZ2lmIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.EPFDZFQQCmNLm5iVPcPMNc__gynm60qvcovRCBg463c)
Traveling to and from Avon had grown quickly tiresome, and not just in the physical sense of the word. The poisoned water was steadily worsening, the plague sapping the strength of the wolves of Elysium in a very noticeable way. Valeska especially grew quickly exhausted, gaunt of face and harsh of cough. It was a small blessing that Amaranth barely needed sleep, for the harsh honking of her mate would have kept her awake regardless.
Amaranth grew more and more worried for her wife.
Thankfully, Dimitri and Fiadh 's newest litter were a reason for the two grandmothers to travel out of ground zero and get some fresh air. Fable had granted them passage into the Blushed Meadows at their leisure, and Amaranth had taken the afternoon to utilize the offer.
As she left the plague zone, the sky seemed to clear. The fog dispersed, the scent of decay and acrid water gradually dissipating. The wraith would inhale deeply, taking in the scent of grass and flowers before a fit of harsh coughs rattled through her chest. The woman would slow, shaking her head and pawing at her face as her sinuses burned, amethyst eyes watering as she practically wept toxic tears out of her eyes to flush her system.
After a few moments, she would steady, swallowing phlegm and shedding herself of the memory with a final shake of her head. She would move forward once more, tall frame moving with practiced grace through the auburn fields as she passed the border marker and made her way toward Avon's commons. Her gaze would search the field, ears pressed forward as she listened for the sounds of tumbling newborns.
She had a gift for them ... for in her scruff were freshly woven with shiny, black raven feathers. One for each of her grandchildren.
