Moonspear fulthark

He starts and then stops; his eyes seem to go glassy and Dirge knows that he's gone again. Somewhere there's a synapse misfiring, gone rogue and flickering akin to lightning in a distant thundercloud. He breathed out in the wait, watching carefully as daze gives way to daydream, to memory, and once again in the lengthy silence he hears him utter the word again.

Anticipation blooms; his head tilts as if to encourage him.

It seems to do the trick, though he doesn't care for what he hears, for what it conjures up for himself. A flashback to the parts of Hydra he does not know, but to a not so recent and not so distant memory of a former suitor that had come knocking along their broader, undefended claim. Rian, she had called him, had told him later. He recalled keenly the burn of jealousy that arose in him, a resolute possessiveness that arose now.

Perhaps this one too, was another one of her previous suitors.

He does not spare a thought of who he could have been—he is obviously not that being now, nor worthy of her attention. As resolute as his possession, he is imbued with something more, a temptation far darker that is cast aside for the continuation of cognizant awareness. The stone distracts him, simmers the flare of his temper, but his eyes rest easily on the wolf once more.

Larus, he says; it isn't a name that Dirge knows, and it further stays his temptation. He needs to know more and finds he wants to know more and much in the same way he had pulled at threads to unravel the tapestry of a family he gradually knew more of, he clutches at whatever ones Larus had in his too. What parts made the whole, what else was there to uncover before he decided what to do with him, for better or worse.

"This is Moonspear, does that sound familiar?"

Somehow, he manages to soften his tone.