Moonspear BWP3—Dragonstone

Of their grouping, he had drawn up the rear as a quiet sentinel. The distant smoke across the sky was a certain omen if he had ever seen one and by the time they had rounded up the children to see from that particular vantage point it had begun an ugly smear across the horizon. His nose worked in futile to sense it—it was too far out, though it certain concerned the rest of his working senses just fine.

Whatever hopes he had of a final venture before the turn of the season had been promptly dashed to bits when the quaking started, but this certainly drove the final nails into the coffin. Where did the land burn? He could not discern from there, the haze and distance too great, and could not know if they were lands he had crossed before and whether or not they would have matter to use as fuel. With autumn there, there was plenty of kindling about.

From on high, he could feel the chill of an early winter stirring yet.

Hydra did not mince words with what could potentially befall them, and Dirge did not miss the uneasy shift of Vega before him. Gently, he comforted her with a touch of his nose to her head. There may have been little they could do collectively, but it was his silent reassurance that he would also let nothing harm them. While Antares was the last to join in with his voice, he saw that Atlas and Osiris understood as well, and in example he too set his gaze on Hydra to listen. She had covered the bases and he had nothing more to add.