Moonspear the notes of a strained refrain

Atlas had a point, though Dirge found himself not as warm to the idea as his yearling son. Much had gone on along the borders over time and with the looming possibility of threats quite close to their proverbial front door, he wasn’t sure how the concept would fly entirely with Hydra. Perhaps one-on-one, it wouldn’t be so bad. But it would take more than just he and Hydra to manage the group fully if they were being particularly testy.

“May not be a bad idea to consider, especially if you’re willing to help corral them,” he said with a faint smile—did Atlas really know what he was signing up for? Perhaps he remembered having the same proclivities as his younger siblings, though he had grown up to have more of a settled temperament akin to his father.

Over a small rise, the herd came into view through a thin veil of fog. Here the air was damp, the ground soft; Dirge guessed there must have been a water source not too far off. His tongue stilled, their conversation coming to a end for the time being. He took sight of the bull elk that he could see, his proud antlers reaching far higher than his height. The bull was watching, surveying his demesne and herd.

A disagreeable note left the father—they would have to be discreet here.