Big Salmon Lake the queens justice

He ranged out from the bank the closer in they drew, long legs striding through the withering grasses. It was Lyra who spotted him first—the pale, ashen stranger—and Dirge fell in behind them as they strode out to meet him. While the women walked with haste and determination, he lagged behind and far more at ease than the reality of the situation commanded.

He listened in as she spoke then, gaze cast out to survey through the fog.

It was a crude balancing act on his part, keeping an eye on things and ensuring nothing came to harm them. While there was little doubt about him the tenacity and prowess that comprised Lyra and Hydra both, it was innate to place himself where he did. Should this wolf prove to be who they looked for and things erupt, Dirge would be there to enter the fray easily.

But it was soon that he realized this was possibly not the figure they had sought—how he wished he could recall those minute features described to him. He had no witticisms to append to their conversation, but he did not betray that he eavesdropped as much as he did watch the motions they all went through. Most of all, he wondered if the figures Andraste had spoken of lingered still... or if they had long departed the lake for better climes.

It seemed likely, though who didn't like a grand entrance?