The young wolfdog nodded knowingly. It was love that kept Aeron in Inferni despite finding no happiness with the pack itself, a loyalty to a woman she waited for so diligently. It was remarkable, really, the way the love could take on such different forms and could be found by many in such strong ways. Her mother had been driven crazy by love for her sister and her death was a result of that love, and in the many months and years, even, after the Monroe matriarch's death, she still longed for her lover. Foxglove found the concept of love fascinating, truly.
"I have been told that love is worth everything, the gypsy girl spoke, "but I am not certain I understand it." She peered at the pregnant woman through sharp green eyes, not tainted with the same listless sheen her mother's had been, affected by death and hatred and drugs. Aeron had not said anything about her condition except to ask after a midwife, but Foxglove had smelled it on her and knew that she would need to be going soon. "Are you tired? I can offer you a night in my hut if you wish it, for it would be unwise to travel in your condition if you are not feeling up for it," she offered.
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