Moonspear the notes of a strained refrain

An agreeable note escaped him.

“Your mother and I have considered having them follow along the next time we hunt,” he told Atlas. “They’re almost old enough to partake, but still have things to learn. The opportunity would teach them something.” They were beginning to behave when it came to the prospect of certain things, though he knew that they would continue to test their boundaries just as often. His youngest were comprised of a motley crew, but there was truth that some proclivities remained from one litter to the next—they all had a want to keep themselves fed.

Of course, some seemed to have a thirst for something more, but he did not ponder long after the darkness that lurked in Mira. If anything, he thought perhaps she was most like her mother and her aunts, thinking them to have the same drive at that age. Hydra had certainly possessed it when they had met, though age had mellowed her out. Children had mellowed her out, though he would have never admitted it in the same way he did not admit they grounded him and retained him to the mountain instead of roaming.

This was about as close to roaming as Dirge got, these days.

“Of course, I don’t object to you escorting them around. Your and your siblings have done a good job with them. They’re rather fond of all of you.” A smile crossed his features for a moment, only to be pulled away at the distant bellow of a bull elk. Unseen, but heard. The terrain obscured them for now still, and Dirge continued his conversation. “Though I hope they haven’t begun to test you as they have me. They can all be surprisingly slippery when they want to be.”