Moonspear are you up right now?

At last it seemed winter was finally losing its hold on them. The weeks before had been packed with bitter temperatures, far worse than any he had ever seen. Though displeasure of it had wormed its way in, it had not taken long to grow accustomed, and the warmup that had followed had been welcomed.

The travels that had taken him far from Moonspear had not been without its share of entertainment, though the original quest had long been abandoned when word that Revui had returned home safely—thankfully, one might add, given the previous year's trials—and Dirge had sank into routine with little complaint. This time too it had been easier to manage with Hydra ever serving as balance and check to whatever desires burnt through him. They had been separate little, no amount of time to pass between whatever curve or drop awaited in the day to day.

He lingered deep in one of several wooded sections privy to breadth of Moonspear's claim where low fog of the late evening coiled and twirled, where snow was more glistened in the slow melt that had taken hold. Gone were days where such a thing would merely powder and pile and coat the land; it was soft, malleable, and left little mystery in the comings and goings of friend and foe alike.

But he did not track these things, however idly his progress seemed. Instead the awareness in the ending day drew anticipation for Hydra's arrival. Dirge knew to keep his guard up as the light waned and departed, but in the dense forest he held tightly to the keen advantage it would lend to him, and then to his proverbial shadow as of late. And then, he presumed, they would begin their little dance again, and he would wait for another spark to ignite.