Moonspear fear is the hand that pulls your strings

A grisled visage set upon them, unseen for scant moments until its presense was made known—a sidelong glance first brought Charon into his view, twisting away only to snap back again when recognition followed suit. He hadn't known they had an audience, and what an audience it was when it came down to splitting hairs, especially given the praise that rolled freely. Though in his heart of hearts he knew it was unlikely such praise was being offered to him, there was a notch of pride cast in his gaze as he looked to Revui. It had been a decent spar, but the sourness did not seemed ready to leave the yearling yet.

As Revui stalked away, a certain gravity wormed its way into Dirge's consciousness. An uncomfortable reality that with the departure of the boy, there was little to detract from circumstance of his existence; the scope of others was such a place he did enjoy being, but even knaves knew when to stay to sidelines and shadows alike. He continued to watch him go as though it were apart of the plan, to let him go out of earshot to impart commentary and seize direction to take where he saw fit.

"Strong lad," Dirge said, "he took me off guard quite well." A faint smile came to his features; it wasn't exactly every other day that even he was taken unaware so swiftly, nor by force. His gaze stole away to Charon, only this time to linger over the newer set of blinding scars that had been bestowed to him. Parting presents by something, or someone, and no doubt piquing of interest for another time. He'd perhaps try to pry the details from Hydra's lips later.

"Which one is he? Hydra mentioned that they were her shadows, but didn't spare me details other than to keep my wits about me..." and his tail hanging at hock curled and flipped, the amusement lingering for show.

thanks again for being so super patient, guys.