Here live ghosts that she cannot do anything but breathe. Aegira Illiadis remembers nothing but her own name, not even the reason for the absence of two years from her brain. The woman has grown up beyond the boundaries of Alacritia, found her strengths and weaknesses, and now she has returned. She does not remember much; a russet-furred body of warmth, cuddled next to one the shade of deep midnight.
Ghosts she does not even remember. Were they inventions of her imagination, or impressions of things she would never pull back to her grasp? She doesn?t know, just like she doesn?t know many things. All she knows is that it?s her time here, and she?s going to see what happens within these borders.
She sighs, reclining onto the ground and licking a vibrant paw with a pink tongue. Her ears flicker, alert as always. She?s had to grow up on her own, learning to survive off of her own instincts and strength. That makes her extra vigilant, observant, suspicious, but it has kept her alive and that?s all that matters.

AEGIRA

NAUSICA let me be your PANZRAM The beautiful creature padded along the river that flowed out into the ocean. The delta was known to many. It was a beautiful place with a sufficient source of water and food. The forest around the delta was green and lush, despite the brisk air. It was winter, after all. The woman slithered her way along the rushing water with no real goal. Her mind wandered around. Options and options plagued her. Should she join her brother and his new pack? Or should she continue to search for her mother, Newt? The babe was confused. Usually she had goals and knew what to do. But the woman had no clue. Was it worth it? Joining a pack while everyone was getting sick? If she caught it, they could help? Would they be able to cure he beloved brother, Neios. Oh, if something happened to her dear brother the behemoth would go on a rampage. The woman would be enraged. Her brother was her life. Though, her thoughts were cut short as a scent filled her slightly moist nose. A female upon the ground. She watched the little, pale girl, for a few moments before clearing her throat. "Who are you?" She did not greet others politely, often. She requested names. It had become the norm. Speech.