Moonspear this soul's a stowaway

He had never considered whether or not his children were anything like he and his siblings. Perhaps yes, in a way, they certainly were. But he wanted to believe his children had a much better childhood than what had been handed to them, or in what ways it had been taken away. Truth be told, Dirge did not recall much of his childhood, and what he did remember he simply wished would continue to fade away. Still, the smile that did grace his face was demure at best, conceding that she was right when the truth of it all was that he hoped they were better.

Their conversation rolled onward and it was there he gestured that they move along. Somewhere drier, if it could have been found, but simply to keep things in motion. The next topic was the sort he felt better about if they did move, no matter how natural it was to do so.

“I haven’t seen Saor since she left Nyx and I,” he mentioned. “We came to a literal parting in the road and she wanted to go her own way and we let her. I always hoped she would come back, and maybe she has and is out there somewhere… but I haven’t found her.” Perhaps she had settled somewhere, had found her little slice of paradise. Or maybe she had done the very thing that he had not, and simply kept going. If not for his children, he suspected he would have gone back to it. The call was there, never silent, but never quite as loud as it had once been.

“Nyx, on the other hand,” and here he stalled, debating how to explain—debating what to share and what to avoid, “Nyx is around. She lives to the east, in the other mountain range. There’s a pack there headed by an accented speaking wolf named Mahler. I haven’t seen her for some time either, and the last time was very brief; we had a famine linger last year, and we were both hunting.” Whatever mirth that had been there was stripped out of him; he had no clue if she lived, let alone if she had stayed with Mahler.

He shook his head dismissively—“Did you stay with Mother all this time?”