Moonspear the notes of a strained refrain

The praise that was offered took the dark young wolf aback.
 
It wasn’t that he didn’t expect the compliment from his father. Dirge was a good man; he had treated his children kindly and fairly as they grew. Atlas contributed his even temper and steady mind to the gentle way that his dad had brought him up. Even in that moment, the leader of the mountain offered his own sightings to the shade – the children would have been a favorable target, as well. As the golden-eyed shadow listened to Dirge, he followed the train of thought with his gaze and picked out a good number of the youth in the herd.
 
“Before we go back, would you like to head toward the borders on this end and see if we can freshen them up a bit? It might help keep the herd within this area – marking around them,” Atlas asked with a hopeful glance toward the older hunter. Part of him could not help but to feel a little selfishly. It wasn’t every day that he got to monopolize his father’s time and knowledge. The inkwell yearling felt that it was alright to take advantage of such opportunities when they presented themselves.