She should be frightened. Swaddled to mama's breast when she returned from the war, her saving grace from the horrors of the Seour-- gone. The both of them. She has Sphinx, now-- the Warden, one and only. Her siblings are in hiding or expired. Survival of the fittest, she would suppose.
   All that distresses Ashtaroth, really, is the lack of Lotus. Her sister has followed her, wide-eyed and loyally, since their birth. If she went the way of Yonina... Well, Ashtar's intrusive thoughts may find life.
   She's sniffing vaguely near the borders, pelt dripping river water that washed away the sweat of overexertion. And fear. Gigantea has gone. Her siblings, parents-- adoptive and all-- gone. A child of gods. A child of traitors.
   Again, her mind drifts to the Red. The same choice. The predictable Scion. The coward's choice.