The cough that rattled her chest had only increased as winter ground on. Her injuries fighting the bear had been what started it to begin with, but long after her ribs had healed she'd coughed, and her breathing had not improved at all. Brandr's absence was felt heavily in the pack, for without the young hunter's vital services and with her injuries they had fallen further and further behind their gathering and storage goals. She was bitterly aware now that she should have left the bear hunting for younger wolves, for it was her aged body and reflexes that had let her down there. She hadn't been able to properly provide for her family so far this winter. With her cough and the dizziness of not being able to breath properly she hadn't been able to hunt well. It had fallen to her children to learn more quickly to provide food for themselves than she'd have wanted to push them. She was proud of them, though, for how well they had stepped up to do what was needed.

Still, despite their efforts and the stored food, her own condition had worsened. She'd lost the last bit of fat from her frame, and her muscle condition had wasted away to near-skeletal, and her cream-and-auburn coat was harsh and brittle. She was feverish more often than not. Her fears of not making it through the season seemed more and more likely as winter continued. She'd need to do whatever it took to see that her five children were well provided for when she was gone, even if it meant insisting that Celestial trade with other packs so that they could apprentice to outside wolves. Aurielle owed her that much for how she'd taken care of the pack, didn't she?

Another racking cough tore from her chest, and she swayed dizzily with the after affects, but she braced her legs despite it and stood there outside her den until she could lift her head again. Probably better to stay here rather than try to make the trip to the main camp, however short the distance. She'd spoken with each of her children privately, preparing them for the eventuality of her death and seeking to know their hopes and ambitions for the future. Most of them, she had already been fairly certain of, but she wanted to be certain of their path before she attempted to help them to reach it. Now it was time to speak with Aurielle, and be firm with her expectations of what should be done with the pups, what opportunities she wished them to have. They would be yearlings shortly, when spring came, and she feared that they weren't ready to face the world on their own. Well, it was best to get on with it.

Raising her muzzle, she loosed a quavery howl that cut off in a fit of coughing.

Aurielle Adravendi

The winter was drawing to a close. She’d left Cairo to his shift of Sentry duty along-side Paladin, heading off to her own patrol, quartering the moor and keeping tabs on whose scents were most notable. She’d been at it for an hour before Gwen’s voice reached her ears. Much less powerful than it used to be. She’d been raised to be pragmatic and realistic regarding illness and old age. Her own parents were aging, faster than they should have been. Even she felt old, sometimes… much more, lately. The stories had been passed down of the original Guinevere’s death, and the illness that had felled a much-loved Queen. And as the current Gwenevere’s health deteriorated, Aurielle felt a bone deep fear that it was the same kind of illness. She broke into a lope to cover the distance more swiftly, not at all keen on the way the older woman’s howl had been cut off, with a barely audible from that distance hacking that had no doubt devolved into a full on fit. She slid to a stop and trotted the rest of the distance to settle beside Gwen. One look at the woman confirmed that there was no recovery from this. There was, at the back of her soul, a stirring sense of grief not entirely her own, as if an ancestor looked through her eyes and remembered. Little wonder as to which, she thought. Simply, she said, “It won’t be much longer, at this rate. Will it.” There were no tears or pleading cries to fight it. Gwen didn’t need that. Instead, the gradated blue eyes watched the older wolf levelly, waiting to see and hear what her friend needed of her. Out of all her family, Gwenevere had been the one strong constant, regardless of if the older woman considered her as a part of the Adravendis. Even her own father had faded, lately. It ate at him too deeply to see his mate and son so… locked away in their trauma. He looked, to be honest, almost as bad as Gwen, by now. “What do you need?” Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think