Moonspear this soul's a stowaway

The rain continued and the heat a formidable annoyance with it.

If they were lucky when nightfall would eventually come, things would cool down. But even that had been a rollercoaster from sweltering, suffocating warmth to a bitter chill that grasped them if they did not begin to dry; Dirge had already had several thoughts that it were wonder none of them had fallen ill for as frequently as they were drenched from nose to tail.

A downpour would have normally kept him close to shelter, but instead this time it was the perfect backdrop for him to seem as viperous as his wife—he was hunting, but not for sport, and certainly not for murder. Somewhere he was certain Hydra had left @Keres to her own devices and rather than wait for either or to find him to pass on information, he took matters into his own plans.

Certain he had spied her at long last—and after shaking at least one childish follower off his trail—he had slunk low to the ground with focus locking her into view. Every movement followed, every action telegraphed to correct his own. A devilish smirk had wormed its way to his features as he drew near and sought his target: her tail. Without wholly knowing how he would be received, Dirge decided to deal with her the best way he knew how, and dredged up his favorite way to annoy any of his sisters—he reach outward with his jaws, and went to grab her tail through an explosion of waterlogged foliage.