Mumma please

Her head swimming from the lack of oxygen reaching her lungs, her ribs strained under the pressure of his crushing embrace. The blood pounding in Ignita's ears drowned the words of her other begotten sons from reaching her until she released him. Slumping into a limp puddle in her massive eldest son's arms. Tears freely fell over her pale cheeks. Her breath rasped against her throat as she struggled through the sudden pain of heartache.

As she was released to the ground she whimpered. Her eyes blinked as she sought the gaze of each boy. She lifted her head seeking the gilded and shadowed form of Balrog to lean her head against.

Iskandor's tone, wiser than his years reached her next. Her gaze lifted briefly to his then fell again. "He will always be my son." She sighed.

"He's won the right to leave Armada. I was trying to teach him... He trespassed on another pack. He risked war..." Her voice cracked, trying to have her sons understand her, understand him... Shame at her failure held her broken gaze on the earth. Nothing compared to the rending of her heart. How could Bas have such faith in her if she couldn't raise their own son properly? Keep him on the straight and narrow? Let him walk all over her?

Where was Basilisk? The Warlord who had sworn to protect her must have heard her call dictating his son's new, now older, status.