Moonspear washed away in a tide of longing

Eight of them, that was a surprising number. Yet perhaps not, he had to reconsider the fact briefly that Osiris had covered a lot more ground than he had over the past couple of years. Out of them, only a handful of them were familiar to him—Neverwinter, Easthollow, Yuèlóng—but the others were unfamiliar. There was no talk of Sagtannet among what Osiris mentioned, and he wondered if perhaps they had disbanded for better climes. He couldn’t remember the last time Mahler had paid a visit to their borders to confer with Hydra, nor did he know what that would mean for Nyx.

Of course, some of that would come to light in the days to come.

“I’ve heard of both,” he mentioned as their conversation turned darker. “The Saints are the closest to us; I actualy think a wolf from Neverwinter told your mother about them while you were gone. We’ve kept our ears and eyes open about them.” Ursus on the other hand he only had hearsay of, but knew they were far enough away not to pose too large of a concern. But it was concerning enough, if the rumors and snippets Hydra had given him were true. He had not done his own investigation into either, but thought perhaps he may have to.

Dirge sighed then, shaking out his coat.

“So it’s more of the same then,” he went on, “always someone out there looking to stir up trouble where there ought not be any. That’s why we have to be diligent about our borders and what our neighbors know.” Osiris probably knew all of this by now, and Dirge loathed to think that his children would all grow to know that the world was not as idyllic as they made it seem within their borders. “Though it’s wise to be concerned about them, I feel they’ll leave us alone either way. Packs like those turn up and settle for a time, but we have outlasted them all.”