Moonspear technicolor

He sighed. Like the endless rain, he was tired of threats being dangled just out of their reach. While the wolves that had attacked them proved their cowardice by staying out of sight and out of mind, perhaps even near faceless now, there always seemed to be one more to fill those shoes they left behind. He wanted to believe there was more to holding a territory than just constantly defending one’s homestead from repeat attacks and warnings, but maybe there really wasn’t.

Moonspear had long been pockmarked by things that dared to try and undo its existence.

“I would rather us defend than stretch ourselves too thin. We’ll always have the advantage close to home, and the rain will see to aid us in that regard,” he said finally, gaze still distant. He didn’t care to go marching off for a useless war on some perceived threat, even if Hydra had it on good authority that these unsavory sorts were in fact a threat at all. To him, it seemed more of the same; an annoyance to fluster them and make them draw lines and attention to themselves.

“But, it would be good to know how many wolves we’re talking about. A small roving band holding a parcel of land might be worth driving away, but if they’ve numbers backing them…” he trailed, an indecisive breath leaving him. He doubted that he needed to explain his reluctance to her again. Their allies were also spread thin and with the dissolution of their closest ones a not so distant memory, it was more than uncomfortable to ponder.

Which, on that note, he wondered aloud: “I suppose it is possible some of our old friends may have thrown in with them, isn’t it?” It made more sense that it would have her rankled on that point; their old allies walked a fine line between savory and unsavory, and plenty had been shared between them.