Moonspear said the thief to the moon

atlas was not the only soul to lie awake that night, listening to the howl of the intemperate winds. arcturus had made his den in the lowlands, and listened in silence as high above the gale took on an ethereal, strident note.

he shrugged the snow from his pelt and rose. if he was not to sleep tonight, he would be useful — he had noticed the far edge of their borders had become somewhat stale as of late, no doubt because the lack of prey had driven most of the spear inwards.

he was not alone in the chill quiet of the forest. ahead he heard the crunch of snow, the soft spill of shadows against crisp moonlit snow — his eyes rested upon atlas in silence, curious, but not admonishing as he strode to match the boy’s slinking gait.