Overture Downs and the desolate moorland below

He persisted in drawing a little closer to the timber, perhaps to imply that he would test his fate on that day. The sloping fringes did everything they could to welcome him in, even teasing that he may have been able to find refuge along the sparse wood that the wolves did not claim. He lingered there all cloaked in autumn midst an increasingly defined start of winter; his steps would have been more precise in their silence if not for the faintest crunch of compacting snow. It was these sort of places he found he was wary and weary of; there were only so many times he could skirt across field to forest and back again before giving into tender urges of complacency. So different yet so similar, occasionally worth the while.

It wasn't in his heart today to seek out whatever hidden gems it may have held, though reasonably the world worked in a different way. It cared not for what he desired or had necessity for. The world simply presented him with a time and a place and in this case, this rather unfortunate case he thought as he laid eyes on a child, the world was certainly there to mock him. All at once his steps eased into a halt, squaring and centering the wayward youth that seemed oblivious the fact that they were not alone.

The stranger from the tarn had not been mistaken—this valley was teeming with children.

Dirge did not hesitate to draw awareness to himself in the form of an uneasy growl. There was nothing negative to be had about it—the unease was all his, the tone inquiring and meant to lend pause. Presumably the youngster had ventured a little further than the claim it was so familiar with and he could hardly fault them. Familiar grounds were inherently dull after a while... and generally where there were young, there were those overprotective sorts.