Moonspear meet at the crossroad of the divine

*heavy breathing and tries 2 make this post pretty.... fails completely...*

 

She moved on, her quiet trek less for him and more for any prey that might emerge. Hydra's gaze swept left and right, ears swiveling to keep track of any new sounds. Nothing, and more nothing, here. The fog rolled about her person, draping itself loosely around her shoulders and seeming to hang suspended there for but a millisecond as it unfurled and moved to arc around the trees. It's pale tendrils seemed to beckon, but Hydra had caught onto the strengthened scent of her mate. She moved through the mists that collected and thickened in their lifeless congregation, none too perplexed by this. The Netherwoods and its aerosphere were well known to Hydra and their family. The vapours around them drifted and curled in thick and thin droves, but the Queen minded only Dirge's trail now. 

Even the absence of the singing thrush and and the mountain bluebird did not bother her. They had gone South, and the silence now was a natural thing that she could, for now, convince herself only the season had brought. There was a preternatural stillness that surrounded all of the wolves of the Teekons now, and Hydra for the moment—as she drifted as the mists did throughout the quiet woodland nestled within the Moonspear—was able to forget about what had suspended the world in such a state. 

And as she found her tawny partner before the fanged archway of scarred stones that were beyond and above them both, she was for a brief moment content to continue such a moment. Her tail waved behind her as she gayly darted toward him, happy, as ever, to see him. Moving to nestle herself beneath his chin, Hydra dragged herself away, circling to face him. Much as she wanted to enjoy this moment and pretend as though nothing in their world was awry, her discovery from several hours ago weighed on her. 

I had found another moose, Dirge; this one carried a sickness that made my stomach roll with the scent of it. A sort of sick that cannot be smelled beyond, she advised, frowning deeply. If they were starving perhaps that would not be so; good fortune saw to it that they were not, and had this wisdom. To eat it... I cannot be certain, but I feel as though we ourselves could become sick. It was delirious in its movements, and full of rage against nothing, she shook her head, having never seen prey act such a way. Her gaze searched his as she wondered if he had.