Moonspear that's the way it ought to be

The borders were becoming more familiar with each passing day. Dirge had yet to tackle the moubtain range itself, and barring some of the lower elevations he hadn't covered much of the territory itself. Still as the days rolled by and no one came to chase him out, he was beginning to feel the urge to investigate what lied within. That itself would require encountering some of the other and presumably more prominent members of Moonspear itself, which was another hurdle all to itself. But no good story came without its twists and turns.

His focus remained on the woods beyond those borders for now, even with the pressing presence of something else. He thought it was nothing or at the very least Hydra stalking him—that he wouldn't have put past her and her ways of dropping in. He had yet to drop in on her, but the time would come eventually. Her routine would be figured out, presuming she hadn't figured out his minimal patterns yet.

Footfalls through frosty, damp leaf debris stole his attention away suddenly, and a flash of slate and smiling whites whirlwinded in. There was a sharp intake of surprise on his end, the darkest of guard hairs prickling to attention as he managed to withhold a growl to accompany them. The wolf that had sprung to was no more than a boy, and one still growing into himself for all intents and purposes.

"You're quite the night owl," he managed out with the same tone of bravado he had carried thus far. "What a performance." He smelled of the mountain, of the shale and bitter wind; of Charon and Hydra among others he did not know. And if he was of any relation of them, he would soon be proud of startling the lowest peg.