Moonspear Will-o-the-Wolf

“Wise words to live by,” he conceded as Moriko finished.

He liked to think that he had lived a life like that, with some sort of decent foundation to place respect on. A respect that had grown, for the most part, by his station within Moonspear itself. His ambition was sated for the most part, some imperative and its requisites met by having obtained his position even if the means had more or less been by riding coattails to get there.

It had taken time, but it had tempered and soothed the blow left by his own failures to claim a territory he liked, but the mountainside had grown on him much in the way Hydra had. He could miss the open road and listen to its beckoning call, but he knew his children would root him no matter what, and that had fulfilled the requisite of being better than his own father at least in his eyes.

As it were, he wondered if perhaps his ventures had been very much like crossing a proverbial ocean, spanning from one shore to another; he was no longer quite a stranger in a strange land any more and that time was certainly forever ago by their own measure.

But his silence had drawn out, his thoughts a distracting specter.

“I am glad you returned to us,” he offered then.

They had a need of souls like her in a time like now.