Moonspear and still insists he sees the ghost

The borders were relatively quiet, even on the cusp of the seasons changing. The ground there was damp and muddy; it was here that snowmelt had begun to pool even in spite of itself, and the varied terrain did little to dissuade it from such. But at least the herds were returning—finally. Better late than never, better now than never at all as he had not been one to desire to dwell on the possibly of what if for too long.

As it were, he did not know that he was being followed yet, but he too followed the herd. It was with the intention that to lay on eyes on them would be reason enough to rally the others, but Dirge wanted to see what the next bend would have in store for them. Would it be worthwhile? The scents suggested so—but he needed that confirmation.