There is nothing in this life that aggitates Aristotlea more than discordanence.
Disobediance, disorder, the falling apart of ranks and the precious time put into
sewing them shut. The fire was tragic - so tragic - but Aristotlea lost more than
what was to be seen when the fires swept through. Ever since things have gone
belly-up, there is a stillness in the air that causes her great wariness. Benjamin,
her beloved Benjamin, has grown ever-distant. Blind to D'artagan's advances, the
snow-kissed she wolf is at a loss for words. She has turned stoic and reserved, a
sliver of ice sneaking through to her once kind and welcoming heart. She remains
bitter and often seeks solace in solitude, unwilling to face the keen looks Benjamin
tosses that mutt, trampling her future.
Regardless, she has not the heart to keep her anger aimed at any one soul for too
long. If it is not she that Benjamin desires, then so be it. Her job is to supply the
hungry mouths around her with food and if that is what she must do, then it will
be so. Persistent, loyal, and unshaken, this wolf could not be swept beneath the
tide of a hungry river.
No matter who sent it her way.
