Moonspear with that silver dagger in his hands

When the call had first been raised, Dirge had been content in spending time with @Osiris purely to bolster his spirits. There had been enough turmoil—too much, in fact, for his tastes. Yet the way of Moonspear was that it was never quite over, but far from it. And as excited as Osiris had been that Arcturus had returned, Dirge would soon realize the wisdom in telling his son to stay behind while he investigated.

Like Lyra, he had been on the outskirts of a budding situation. He watched as it came to a head, ultimately festering like an untreated wound that had been perpetually rubbed with salt. The anger that coursed through gave him reason to stay out of it; he didn't fear the threat of a fight, and was confident that it would not come to that. It couldn't come to that, he thought, and thought better of the duo that had led with him.

But the stones tossed cast a powerful ripple.

He saw Dragomir tear away from all of them, spied the emergence of Lyra to follow in the wake of Hydra and the hushed words that came from the dark-haired duo. His eyes trailed over the unfamiliar wolf in their midst briefly, then sought out Jarilo and Kukutux in measured amounts, ever assessing the situation. It was not anger that stirred within him—disgust may have been more an apt description. The infighting left him weary, and they had far worst things at hand to contend with. A headache dared to bloom like a thunderhead encroaching the peak of their very mountain.

He dreaded the fallout, and suddenly dreaded the gloom he would bring back to Osiris.

Let him leave, he heard Lyra utter, and he too turned away.

Better to handle this when cooler heads prevailed.