Moonspear time is up, time has flown

The borders were quiet again and the days longer yet; there had been a surge of warmth along the mountain, the subtle hint of seasons yet to change and come, and the earth beneath his feet was damp and cool. The ferns in the deep wood along their borderland had grown exponentially and the much could have been said of his youngest brood—they grew more and more curious of their world, and that made it all the more pertinent to ensure it would continue to be a safe one.

His trek of the borders may as well have looked rather leisurely, however, for Dirge did not go at it with any particular pace than what he felt suited him. It lent to him time to see what had changed and what hadn’t, to suss out anything awry, and of course merely to listen to what the old wood would say… or produce.

He heard footfalls coming, but not from beyond the fringes of their claim. They came from within, and they were close, but not quite enough to pull his attention from where he wove along split stones and vibrant greenery.