Moonspear vokul fen mah

The venture off with Arcturus had been a welcome one for all that had been wrought. Perhaps for all that would be wrought, as he knew Hydra would seek to rend flesh from bone with little haste. What had happened to Osiris troubled him, reopening concerning wounds he had thought long healed and left to scar. Dirge had hoped the famine would have steered them clear of turmoil, but it had been a foolish, almost naive course to wander.

The early appearance of violets would have normally coaxed him towards an ease, but even he had little in the way of commentary towards it—not that either of them were afforded opportunity to compose something poignant or reassuring. Hydra was very much a dark thunderhead cascading in from the horizon, and a cord of tension tightened in Dirge instinctively. He knew that look that darkened her countenance, met it without resistance, and searched for further details in the chill of her frosted gaze.

It halted any pondering of the flowers.

"How is he?" Had something changed since he had lingered uselessly, unable to do nothing more than be a protecting presence, if not a comforting shade? It had pained him, undeniably, but at least within the stone and timber he knew Osiris would be safe. But the glen had suddenly become unsafe, and it was nothing more than another weighted stone tied around them.