Moonspear don't need caution, you're gonna find out; in this lifetime, only upsides now

That certain time had come alive again, he was sure of it.

And yet he did keep his distance from Hydra, by then no stranger to the shifting sands that comprised her ever evolving mood, for better or for worse. Whether it was with some mute affection he could be received by or a flare and flash of pearly teeth, he would be prepared in spite of his own desires and vices.

This year had not brought him the desire to antagonize her as much, though he hadn't taken much note of it. There was much to contend with mentally and physically—Moonspear had come out on the other side of winter in decent shape, but not without moderate work to keep them on top. There were many of them, perhaps too many should things turn south again, but only time would tell.

He did not think about these things either—Dirge was surprisingly free of thoughts as he ventured along a familiar trail. The air felt warmer now, free of adaptation, but not so free of coming snow yet to fall and blanket them once more; the mountain peak was well obscured by clouds, and the vales and valleys beyond were cloaked in a heavy, ethereal fog.

It was quiet—not overbearingly so, but just right.