ooc: 
She really would be singing!
There was new life to announce, but not yet felt within the swelling womb of the female. But there was hope in her and light in her eyes that it was there and would soon be felt wholly, moving in due time to share with her beloved. Hopefully there would be something more than a shrug or grunt as a reaction. By the Ancestors… if there was a smile on his face… Her tail wagged briefly at the thought then returned to its relaxed positions between moving thighs as the she-wolf continued on along her path.
There was life to acknowledge beyond what grew within her. A consciousness, an ambitious disposition yet to reach its potential hadn’t been seen on the grounds as of late, but the scent would say the body was not lost. Or…perhaps it was. The scent the Issor followed was fairly erratic, moving from one path to another but leading…nowhere. Oddly enough this made the mother to be very happy to experience. Practice, she would call this; a little exercise to prepare her for following the trail of her own little ones as they acquainted themselves to their new home. No doubt Zeus would have a word or two for the young explorers when their time came. Perhaps the young female as well when she was found. Scent markers and textures, the blind had their own method of sight that transcended beyond the traditional means. And it was a capable method that could do wonders if shared.
But for now, the autumn female favored the sense of smell to guide her to the young one, taking ease over challenge for the sake of expediency. Yet even then the pursuit was slow at best, as the growing bulk of the she-wolf hindered a more fluid weave through the thick wild. Oh, she was growing fat indeed, but it made her smile as she was never one for vanity over practicality. “Oh dear me…” the woman sang softly as her wide amber eyed peered through the thickness of the wild searching for that splotch of white. “At this rate I will be stuck… and there will be no one to help me.” Purposefully her voice rose to a noticeable octave. “Especially not a pretty young female with eyes of a spring field. Oh if only my rotten luck would change. Oh dear me…if only my luck would change.”