Firefly Glen it's planting seeds in a garden you never see

In his thoughts along the borderland between the mountain and glen, he heard the rallying cry. An uncertain emotion stirred in him to hear Osiris raise his voice—was it pride? It may have been, to know that what had started as a flirtatious conversation had turned into an achievable goal. It had once been easier to consider Hydra’s siblings for such stations, but to find his son at the helm of one made the hairs along his spine prickle; it was a sensation that felt out of place, but it was a reaction to the sonorous call that was lifting up all around him and nothing more.

He felt the pull of it too as he listened to other voices join in. Some of which that were familiar to him, others that were not from deeper within the glen itself. His emotional uncertainty was eclipsed by the fact that this was no ordinary rallying call; this was something much more concrete, much greater than any meager thought or concern that could have crossed him. His muzzle went skyward then, and his voice joined in with the clamor that was beginning to rise from the mountain.

Beneath the full moon, on the cusp when the veil between seasons and the world was the most thin, they had taken the glen. There would be no turning back now, and no room for doubt or failure to slip in like a ghastly, unsavory resident in their dreams.

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