Moonspear time is up, time has flown

The shade moved down from the rocky portion of the mountain and onto ground that did not strain him quite as much. He had followed the path of a stray mountain goat for some ways before he had been forced to give up on it. The agility of the prey animal had been much too advanced for him to pursue on the dangerous peaks that the goat traipsed with almost careless ease. Down he went, aiming for the borders where he could set his sights toward a patrol. If he could not promise them a meal, he could ensure the borders were freshly marked.

The borders were quiet again and the days longer yet; there had been a surge of warmth along the mountain, the subtle hint of seasons yet to change and come, and the earth beneath his feet was damp and cool. The ferns in the deep wood along their borderland had grown exponentially and the much could have been said of his youngest brood—they grew more and more curious of their world, and that made it all the more pertinent to ensure it would continue to be a safe one.

His trek of the borders may as well have looked rather leisurely, however, for Dirge did not go at it with any particular pace than what he felt suited him. It lent to him time to see what had changed and what hadn’t, to suss out anything awry, and of course merely to listen to what the old wood would say… or produce.

He heard footfalls coming, but not from beyond the fringes of their claim. They came from within, and they were close, but not quite enough to pull his attention from where he wove along split stones and vibrant greenery.

A familiar scent was what carried the dark young shadow along his path. He followed the fragrance of his father, knowing that Dirge was likely just ahead of him. The sharp yellow of his eyes roamed out beyond the mountain range and into the wilderness with some interest. After his patrol had been completed, Atlas was sure that he could find a few pieces of prey to fill their caches. With pups in the pack, he knew it was vital.
 
Picking up his pace, the shade did what he could to close the distance between himself and the agouti figure of his stoic father. Even after almost a year of age, the dark young man could not help but admire the way that Dirge roamed the mountainside. It was as though navigating the terrain had become second nature. One day, Atlas hoped to boast the same.

Footfalls drew nearer and the turn of his head revealed Atlas emerging from shade and shrub. A smile came to him easily to see the boy, a wave of his tail just as welcoming. Though he was choosy with his company, he had never turned down opportunity to share it with his children when they sought it.

"Out for a roam?" he queried as Atlas drew near; his attention went back to the path ahead of them. "Things are quiet today." A reprieve they needed, even if they did not recognize it in full. The less stress the better, though it were a fool's errand to suggest that life would ever be without it in some way, shape, or form.

The space between them was short work for the sturdy young wolf. He closed the gap and approached the handsome golden hues of his father with a low crown and a ghost of a smile on his lips. It was not often that he was able to get some alone time with Dirge. When he managed it, it was a welcome form of company. There was something to be admired in the Moonspear leader. Atlas had spent enough time wondering whether he would inherit some of the man’s diligence and stoicism.
 
“We need it, but I can’t help but feel uneasy when it gets this silent,” the young shade remarked to his father with a sheepish expression that he tried to conceal. Surveying their claim with watchful golden eyes, Atlas waited to see what wisdom his father would impart to cleanse his worry away.

The unease was something that they shared. He hated it.

The worries of the world were better left for his son's elders.

"After all we've endured, I suppose it's natural," he conceded, uncertain if that was reassuring at all. Probably not; Dirge found it difficult to assure himself that they weren't on the cusp of yet another trial. It was a wearying thing—in spite of being a thing that was not tangible, it possessed a chokehold that was more than willing to restrict them. If it were able, it would certainly do more.

"It is wise to never grow complacent," he went on, "though we are inclined to do so. Our upkeep of our claim seems to invite an assortment of troubles, but they would be far worse if we did not." Wretches and fiends, wayward souls, and more; he was loathe to imagine what things would be like had they grown lax with the winter.

Even then, the world would do as it pleased.

The young wolf listened diligently to the golden male. Atlas knew only a few things with complete certainty. One of them was that he could always trust his father to be honest with him. He knew that he would receive an answer that made the most sense. As Dirge spoke, this became far more evident. Relief washed over him, yes. It had been confirmed that such worry was natural, that it plagued even him. To the young boy, that offered a sense of peace. If they shared the same worry for their claim, perhaps it would allow for them to increase its fortitude – together.
 
A breath of air rushed from his mouth as the dark young man laughed. It was not done because his father had said anything funny in a common way, only that Atlas had found it odd how the man’s words had settled the unease without offering any promises. That was a skill he wished he could take.
 
“With the prey scent as strong as it has been, I think we may be able to enjoy some of this for at least a short while,” Atlas commented thoughtfully. Worry, yes, but they could also enjoy the fruits that blessed them. “Osiris has turned into quite a skilled hunter, I’ve noticed.” The words felt as though they carried something of a bitter weight. The shade could not help but to envy his sibling for the talent he had found so early on. He was proud, of course. Osiris was something to be proud of, he thought.

Relief was replaced by envy within Atlas, and this too did not go unnoticed. It was a glimmering snippet, an insight cord wormed into their tapestry; he had once felt such things too in his life, however long ago it may have been. Had it been more prominent, he may have perceived his shadowy son's words as a worry, but as it were he had practice in knowing which fires to stoke and which to smother.

"It interests him," he supplied, "though I believe all of you do well when it comes to hunting. You can keep yourselves fed, after all," and here his words turned teasing, ever so slightly. His turn to be lighthearted, to chuckle. "I do not worry of that either. Your mother and I are skilled at it, so it's fair that you all would be too. That makes our living easier."

Yes, that was what it came down to, wasn’t it?
 
The boy’s features were washed with a stoic expression. His gaze drew away from the man beside him and out to the wilds. They were all just seeking a way to keep themselves alive. Such a purpose seemed so simple to the yearling. To simply hunt because it maintained them made it a necessity, not necessarily a talent. Those who could not learn to do so did not make it long before the world swept them from its surface.
 
“We do what we must,” Atlas remarked, words weighted. He wondered for the briefest of moments if his father had ever aspired to more. Claiming the mountain and standing there in leadership seemed to be a great feat, but did their purpose cease beyond that? Had Dirge ever wondered about creating something of his own and forging it from nothing? It felt much too silly to ask.