Moonspear be mine

He had lost the trail of his quarry, but it was not a disappointment. Though the lands had certainly dried out since the rains, the footpaths were still a grand mess. Littered and scattered with debris here and there still, they had begun to weave new trails in where the old ones could no longer be used and the same largely went for where the prey within their grand territory went. All seemed to be aware that the seasons were changing, aware of how the days were gradually growing short and energy did not wane as it had. He saw more night now, and felt the urgency in making use of the day.

Unaware that he was being trailed himself, Dirge had come to stop to investigate a scat pile left behind. Not exactly fresh but not so old that he couldn’t make a discovery or two about it. He had been on a deer path, he thought, but this was definitely not from the roving bands of ungulates privy to the broad range of Moonspear’s claim. A disappointing note met the ambience—this was from a badger. He couldn’t recall the last time he had stumbled across one of those and frankly, did not feel a particular urge to deal with it.

A concern for another time, then.