Moonspear vokul fen mah

Arcturus had been painfully left out of the loop; Dirge couldn't decide whose shortcoming it was more, but then thought perhaps it did not matter. Reassuring as it were to know that he would recover, at least potentially, hopefully, there were far greater things at hand that churned between their thoughts. Who, what, when, where, and why—hardly any of it mattered against what they did know versus what they didn't, and even he knew there was little question what the proper recourse would be.

The event had done more than cast yet another darkened cloud over him; it hardened him much in the way that it tempered Hydra's resolve, and her absolute certainty had become his reality in all but a consuming nightmare. He little taste for politics even then, perhaps less now—he wanted blood without appending a name to it, without consideration for what light it would cast them in. His gaze found the ground in thought, and his voice filled in the void left in Hydra's trailing words.

"The only discussion to be brought to the table would be who they want to let us borrow for a retinue," he murmured darkly. "The sooner we make a dragnet, the sooner the heathen's caught in our snare. I'm doubtful she'll have covered too much ground that we can't make up easily." The sooner they invoked an eye for an eye and so on would be best, but it did not need said. His gaze leveled between them, not searching for affirmation.