Moonspear fireflies downright

Mira was missing, and Firefly Glen was forming. She supposed that would mean less patrolling in that generation direction since Osiris planned for an extension of Moonspear to be there. She was wondering who was going- and as Desdemona was not ordered to as well, so she made no preperations for herself.

Though, the guard was curious on who else was going. Majority seemed to be of the Alpha's children; she believed Antares was going, Osiris.. Was Bronco and Atlas as well?

The power of Moonspear, seemed to be growing well.

There were upheavals all around.

Though he squabbled with Mira quite a bit, her absence was a troubling thing. A darkness that cast shadows all around, diminishing his world a little bit. He missed his sister, point blank. His mother had been snappish, on edge and distracted. His father was of a similar demeanor, though it paled in contrast to the former.

He wandered restlessly and aimless; everyone was busy searching and though he did have a minder or two, they didn’t seem to mind if he went for a stroll. He had been insistent that he wasn’t going to go near the borders and had been left alone for the most part… until he spotted someone.

He recognized her, though he couldn’t have claimed to know her.

“Are you going with Osiris too?” he found himself asking, searching for a distraction without entirely realizing that was what he was doing. But he had seen her with Atlas before, and Atlas was going with Osiris, so maybe she was too.

Desdemona vaguely knew of all of Hydra's kids, even though she never met them. Altair was the second litter of the Queen, and he vaguely looked similar to their father Dirge, and like Osiris as well. Though he approached her, but immedeitly asked about the Firefly Glen. The guard shook her head,

"I had not been told to join them, so I stay." If @Hydra chose to tell Desdemona to join them, then so be it. Her use was but a simple guard, she felt her opinion did not matter.

His face scrunched up without thinking at her response.

“You hadn’t been told to?” His tone turned incredulous, his brow furrowing deeply. What a weird answer, but he didn’t need to tell her that. Osiris hadn’t told anyone to do a thing as far as Altair knew. His features softened then, feeling an urge to explain to her. “Why would you have to be told to? Atlas and the others wanted to go with him to the glen,” he said, pausing for a moment.

“I wanted to go too but mom said I’m not old enough. But I can visit if someone goes with me. Do you at least wanna visit?” Maybe not, he thought then, embodying a streak of Mira to wonder if she’d have to be told to do that too. But if she did, well…

He was already plotting, wondering how to acquire another escort.

"I move with accordance of what I am ordered." It was rather simple for the guard; she was without feeling on the matter and would only move when told to do so. If Hydra had commanded her to help Firefly Glen achieve a sturdy border, she would so. Of course, she occasionally would go down to help regardless, but not officially a member of the unit beyond the mountain scope. Majority of the time, she still trimmed Moonspear's borders.

"I visit to help their borders," she stated her thoughtline, "as your mother said once you are old enough, you can do the same."

So… no. That seemed a definite no in his eyes.

“But I wanna go now,” he said. It was almost whining, only his frustration eked through. “I wanna help.” This time, it was more combative in its essence; Altair had found a new struggle to deal with, and it was tied firmly to the fact that his elder brothers had left him behind. It wasn’t like he didn’t get to see them still, but now it was infrequent. It was on their terms more so than his own, and he did not like it.

In a thoughtful, darker fit that churned through his mind, he almost didn’t like her either. Too serious, she was every bit of charcoal leftover from a fire that burned too mildly to reduce it all to cinder and dust. Altair sized her up with another look, his eyes searching hers to find that it was just as blank to him as the rest of her. He had a lot to learn still about reading people, and choosing the sullen guard of Moonspear was not a task for a beginner.

“Don’t you ever smile?” He knew it came off flippant. “You always look like… you’re… you’re—” the word wouldn’t come just yet, but then it did, “—unhappy or something. Maybe not unhappy, but you know, cold.” He squinted at her, a lame mimicry of how he pictured her face to be, scrunched up and glaring. “You aren’t like my mom or my aunts.”

"You are close, no?" He had been born last spring, and soon winter would be upon them so. The young pups of Hydra Ostrega would soon grow to a year old, and he too, could choose as the last litter has done, "and to follow your siblings as a stronger wolf." Maybe that was what the others wanted, for him to grow safely, before needing to fight for the land that they soon will claim.

No one has really commented, on her cold nature. Her rigid? Yes, and she managed to lower it to such a level, she wouldn't bow to everyone that she would see. Long ago, would Desdemona even bow to children, just to try and be a pleaser; and not be scorned and discarded once more.

She was silent, in thought, looking at Altair, "I'm satisfied where I am- we all aren't blessed with a happy beginning," it wasn't said out of scorn, or jealousy for the life Altair was given, the guard said so out of fact, "smiling doesn't seem necessary, to survive in a world that has discarded me when I was born. We all have reasons, Altair."

She has smiled, Desdemona has everyone once in a while. Though it didn't seem suitable just to continue smiling, she also rarely produced an anger- her face has always been.. Stoic, calm, cold, a woman that guards the cold mountain of Moonspear. A child scorned by the wolves of her home forest, it wasn't easy to simply smile because.

He didn’t know if he was close, in all fairness; his mother said a lot of things that made sense to him, but at the same time his own impatience had overridden the logic. He knew he had to be able to fend for himself and he thought that he could—truth was, he could, but only within a certain capacity. Still reliant on those around him for some guidance and care, but still learning the ways of the world enough to be fully fledged.

But soon he would be able to do those things, even if he didn’t know it.

“Oh,” he rejoined to her comment. His face creased with consideration, still wondering. She had shared a very powerful snippet with him in her even tone, possessing a patience that was far greater than his own. His father would have waved him away at this point, knowing all to well that the breadcrumbs she had thrown out to him would only spark more questions.

“Why’d they… discard you? Seems pretty dumb if you ask me,” he commented, “you’re always doing good things, right? Protecting the borders and stuff, like my brothers and parents do. Or like my Uncle Jarilo.” It made her important, gave her purpose—all things that he had slowly aspired to for all his young worth could amass. Clearly even if she didn’t smile, it was their loss and Moonspear’s gain.

"Even if I do good, it doesn't erase blood." She remembered, the days of trying so hard to please the man that was supposedly her 'father.' However never once, was she allowed to call him that, nor even think the thought he was a family. Scorned and discarded, only put to use; she was but a guard.

"Moonspear is tied to Ostrega bloodline, and because of that, you will always be loved and welcomed here. However, I was not given such a life- for mine was scorned and detested. In the end, they had enough of it." The Blackrock wolves were such wolves that only wanted their own kind, and their purity that came with so. Desdemona doesn't know how far the wilds go on the mixture of blood, but never once did she reveal why she was so bastardly.

It was a secret she wished to take to the grave, for the fear of being treated differently always lingered in the back of her mind.

It had never occurred to him that someone could have such a vastly different life. To Altair, all children were loved and cared for. They were guided and taught the things that they needed to know as far as he could know, all of that was being done for him and his siblings. While Mira’s disappearance was certainly a thing that darkened his thoughts and actions in spurts, he still held onto the hope and confidence that she would be all right. She had to be—they were all descendants of great things, or so his mother had told him. They were not easily swayed or taken away because of their ignorance; they were headstrong and individual, sharp in ways that would show as they grew.

As her voice drifted off on the wind, his ears slicked back in a silent apology as though he had been reprimanded. Desdemona had given him something to think about and in spite of his own streaks of arrogance, he felt certain he had brushed a topic that was sensitive even if she didn’t openly display it. Just a few lines to simply put him in his place and remind him that perhaps yes, he did in fact have a life that was more solid and better than others. They all did, his cousins included. He decided not to investigate the topic further.

When the silence however became too much, he found that his tongue would not be stilled.

“Can you teach me how to be a guardian? I mean, I know my mom’s been showing me some stuff but she and my dad also say there’s much we can learn from others too. And you don’t have to,” he said, cutting off. Would she feel ordered by him, because of who his parents were? “I’ll be good, I promise. Maybe then we can find Mira.” Maybe that would bolster her a bit, maybe as much as it would him.

Desdemona would hope the day of despair would never come to the children of Moonspear. Her own was harsh and wicked, the unloving touch of a missing mother, and a negligent father, not to mention she made the mistake of ignoring her own blood, for the sake of trying to prove herself to a pack that did not want her. She still wonders, where her brother and sister have gone, sometimes seeing their shadows in the distance, but now firmly remembering; they aren't here.

"I do not mind," teaching the younger generation is not an issue, she was rather surprised he asked so, "what do you wish to know in particular?" Desdemona would like some sort of guide to what he would like to know, otherwise she would just do her own rituals.