Broken Antler Fen tossed in a cell to feast with the fleas

Her assessment of Moonspear would have been correct—but their conversation dwindled as the scent of the herd picked up. They were indeed close; Dirge’s words had faded off to the call of the bull elk somewhere just outside their line of sight. He may have easily been over the next small rise of terrain, and that thought alone drew him to bring them both to a gentle halt before it.

“You go left, I’ll go right,” he said, much more business-like than he had been before. “We’ll make a quick count and meet back here in a bit—sound good?” Not that he anticipated her declining the suggestion. As long as they didn’t get too spotted or otherwise engage the herd, Dirge thought this would go off without a hitch.