Moonspear call me a thief

Voices pulled him from his thoughts.

He had taken to quietly patrolling through the depths of the woodland and not for want of better things to do. It was a failed distraction, the first of several in a long line of succession that accomplished little. He had exhausted his ideas for where some had gone and wondered after others and the frustration therein. Perhaps it should have been unsurprising; Moonspear was often handed things by a one-two punch.

Spying the dark coat of Antares through the spring growth, he soon took note of the newcomer in their midst. Hydra had mentioned her, briefly, knowing the lack of details would inevitably bring him to cross paths with her. She seemed a pretty thing, full of promise and all the confidence youth brought; for a moment, he felt envious of the mirth in her good natured request.

But not one to want to stay downtrodden at all, least of all in the company of his children, Dirge found his own composure as he broke into the scene beside Antares: "I'm sure we could do that. Perhaps this time the foxes won't want to reclaim that old thing." And then to his son: "What do you think? Worth a shot?"