Moonspear cold mountain

@Dirge! But AW! Feel free to skip to the last paragraph.

It was strange to think of it being only just autumn; there was a cold dread in the air that she associated with something else. Winter. Or perhaps the silence that came with winter. The uncertainty and fear. The day of Galaxy's death had dawned cold and white and ruthless. Korei, too, had disappeared into a winter storm.

What dread things would wait for them in this year's snow? What worries, what misery? Alya was thrown suddenly back into this time a year before, when she'd been injured in Aditya's pack. When she'd met her sister once more. She recalled that it had been shortly after that — and in winter! — when Nikai had been returned to her.

There is still hope in the world, she promised herself, looking around at the cave filled with skulls and knowing also that she was strong, that she had conquered all things that had been put in her path. She stood, casting one last glance over her shoulder, and exited the Cerberus's lair to range down toward the borders. She would wait for Hydra to visit the loud youth of the woods, but there was no reason not to go and introduce herself to their allies.

The temperatures had dropped steadily, the brisk winds chasing leaves off frosted branches and tangling them in the thickest, choking grasps of the undergrowth below. Dirge didn't care much for the shift of the season that seemed to come too soon, but he knew that nature would always do as it deemed rather than what it was deigned to. That was left up to them and the rendering done by calamity after calamity; there were still no sign of herds rushing for safety in the forests beneath the crag's icy gaze.

He picked about and through the borders which were quiet again for a change, at least for now. With the shift of the weather and all that had been brought on, he couldn't help but wonder how longer that quiet would last, how long their solitude would hold out. A low fog curled where lingering snow clung, and the earth there was damp and heady like the great pines towering above.

Somewhere in the distance, something snapped. Whether it was a low branch or simply a surprisingly dry twig, he cared naught for either—his gaze fixed to a point beyond, a void where shadows were thick, and studied it for some telling sign or reveal. It was not a long wait but it was disappointing; a beady-eyed raven hopped about with a lonesome call in his direction.

Had hunger chewed him more, he would have considered it.

But not even the bird had its choice of meals lately either.

thank you for starting!

The borders were rarely unguarded, but Alya had hoped to slip away undetected all the same. They would surely discover her scent leaving the territory at some point, but that was not unusual, and she planned to be back before anyone missed her. Her plans changed, however, when she followed the raven out of the brush and came face-to-face with Dirge. They'd not interacted much since her return, and in truth, had never had much to do with one another.

"If it isn't my favorite brother in law," she said, turning and starting toward the male. It occurred to her that she might learn a little more about their neighbors without actually having to meet them -- but, of course, she would do that as well. "Anything interesting happening out here?" She hoped not; boring borders were the best sort they could hope for.

Favorite brother-in-law—he wanted to wager that he was her only brother-in-law, but the comment stayed lodged in his cheek where it belonged. He thought it interesting that she would seek to approach him here, though admittedly nothing derisive had been passed between them for some time, and what time they had spend in one another's company had been far from alone. He did not hide the open interest that rested in his features, though it was whisked away to survey their surroundings along the border at her mention.

"It's been quiet," was all he supplied at first. Quiet was about the most they could hope for, though given any number of circumstances that could and perhaps would arise, he did not believe it would last. "No sign of our favorite lot of the unhinged to be found here so far. No sign of decent prey, either." Quiet was traded for the troubling, and it was that sort of silence that bothered him most. His gaze rounded back to her, the interest once more taking up its familiar station.

"No entourage in tow of you today? Seems like the children took my advice of terrorizing Arcturus today." Or perhaps they had simply traded in Alya for Lyra, or even Hydra herself. He had managed to evade requests to follow thus far, but they would not last forever—@Osiris had been becoming insistent as of late. The woods of the border were dark and deep, and he did not dare invite the trouble harboring beyond just yet.

Quiet was good enough for Alya. She was hoping for a boring winter even as she prepared herself for the worst. She would settle for dull and hungry and dreary if only it meant that nothing worse would befall them. So mention of the lack of prey did not yet make her anxious, but being reminded of one of their nearest neighbors certainly did.

"Not today," she agreed, coming to stand nearby him. "I know their days as mere children are numbered, but I'd still prefer to keep them away from the borders." This seemed especially silly when said aloud; it was nearly time for their mother to whelp again, and Alya was still bound and determined to keep them from strangers. "My sisters and I were already tearing down strangers at the borders when we were their age. I used to dream about having big sons and daughter who'd do just the same — but now that they're here, all I want to do is protect them from such things."

It was good that she had not whelped first. Perhaps surviving this litter had helped train her out of her most over-protective instincts.

"From our neighbors especially," she went on in a dry tone, pointing with her nose toward the Haunted Wood.

His gaze followed her gesture briefly, but it was reassuring that they were on the same page. It had never been in his intentions to let his children grow and fit into the mold of what he had already seen as standard fare, and so far they had already retained a sense about them that was not just all about teeth and setting them to flesh. Of course, they were certainly not without their bite, either.

"I don't disagree," he rejoined, "but I think we've done a fair job of only letting them know what they need to. I'd rather them have the opportunity to know a life free of worry than drafted in to our troubles." What would come of their neighbors of the calamity ahead he couldn't say—he didn't want to even ponder it any more than he already did. But he knew that they were perceptive, as children often were, and knew thinking they were entirely free of concern was a stretch.