Altar of Twilight it's strange what desire will make foolish people do

The hour was late, or maybe early. It had become difficult to tell when the sky clouded up and darkness seemed to descend so swiftly. He felt as though he had walked the world once over and back again though admittedly, a large portion of that could have been attributed to the snow cover alone. Yet like a signal beacon the monolithic rise of the flagship that made up Moonspear was hard to erase. Even swallowed by cloud cover and a winter fog, he found familiarity arise in the jagged flares and juts of stone.

Weeks later and he had nothing to show for it but by then, he wasn't surprised at all. A certain neutrality had overcome him though he likened it to resignation. Nyx was indeed truly nowhere to be found that he had bothered to look, he had found nothing of more than minute interest to distract him, and now the weather threatened to impede him past a tolerating point. If survival had not been a winning factor in his thoughts, he would have been entirely loathe to catch himself in the throes of preparation. He would have certainly been loathing the acquiescence riding in with the clouds.

It would snow again (and again) soon and already it tired him; the vale offered little in the way of shelter but gave him plenty of chances to stall himself further. The time sink would only serve to give him composure until the skies lightened and the world stirred itself for the waking hours. And then what? He supposed he would find @Hydra out lurking; he thought he would make her day simply by appearing, assuming she too had not grown sour to his comings and goings, to his advances masked behind wordplay and glances.

Perhaps if he were to relent here, he pondered, then he would be able to indulge. To partake rather than merely offer an variety of gratifying promises. To enable a win on a scorecard that seemed glaringly pockmarked with losses. Why things troubled him more now than they had in the past however was something he found he could not shake—it was the sensation that truly all eyes were upon him once again. These were not strangers whose doorstep he almost loitered. These, at least most of them he anticipated to still know, to remember. He anticipated scrutiny—he would have to play a part and act a scene, over and over again.

But like the bitters of medicine, he swallowed them down. His jaw set evenly as he shook loose snow and foliage from his coat and he deigned to believe that with it he shook the unease from his person as well. It seemed easier then to hold his head proud as he settled in a minor nook to weather the passing squall of snow; morning would come soon, and he would find her.

The snows had begun. Hydra strayed little from Moonspear in those times, but on the odd occasion her mind did. Her loyalties remained unquestionable as ever; for two years of her life, Hydra had lived within Moonspear. But for a great portion of her adulthood one man had occupied them more than any other. Hydra rest upon her mirror images, though roused early as she often did. This day, she moved beyond the borders. 

Time to find the object of her distraction, she supposed. That was one way to quiet her mind. And then she might simply have to endure. 

Long-legged strides took her toward the large agouti male, and she would likely be in his vantage point this time before he was in hers. Still, when she saw him among grey and white, her eyes held him, and a plume of warm air rolled in smoky tendrils from her nostrils. Hydra gazed upon his handsome visage for a moment, relief in finding him above all others quite evident. 

There had been many men within her life, and perhaps more to come. But for whatever reason, Dirge lingered; literally, figuratively—she had decided to explore her desire to see things through. The Beta moved towards him, though paused halfway; she wondered if he might be ready to bridge the gap between them. They were not starcrossed; Hydra had in her mind the two of them were far more than that.

He drifted for a time, eyes closing for what seemed the briefest of moments to reveal on opening that the world had lightened significantly. A haze had descended from down the mountain to the vale and blearily he took stock of what lied before him for a few moments before escaping to the sanctuary of shifting tides of rest. It was not there that he lingered long, caught somewhere in the undertow of a twilight sleep that left him more aware to the world than he wished to be; he heard the passage of one unseen thing and then another, and it stirred him once more.

And so awake he stayed and pondered options he had gone over a hundred times before. Briefly there was consideration for the past but it was swiftly hurled away—playing into those thoughts here, in this situational daze, would only invite more trouble than it was worth. His composure would crumble beneath the weight and what-ifs, and he would not have any of it. No, he would wait a while longer before unfolding and emerging into the world and thrust himself forward into whatever waiting maw stayed open, at least of the figurative sense.

This opportunity was stolen from him though, as an inky figure composed both of femininity and confidence broke the scene. His attention was fixed as she made quick work of spying him from the wintry landscape, and he felt the beginnings of a smile unfurl gently on his features. She had gotten better at finding him, even when he went to pains to stay hidden in the timber. Dirge held his position all nestled until a certainty rested upon her countenance, until her steps had become fully self-assured that she had found her quarry.

He spared a thought briefly if she had scoured the foothills for him, wondering if he would come circling back around in time or find better climes. These were left behind him as he rose and shook snow from his coat (again and again; it seemed this was status quo), and his steps were clipped as he adjusted once more to the ever shifting terrain to curtail distance between them. He held back against the urge to close it entirely, but the forced arm's length was a difficult thing to maintain. Yet it was his way of ever testing that boundary, to control what he could—did she feel so fondly of him that she would come forward?

”You've become quite skilled in finding me, it would seem,” he murmured.

Small cameo of Revui, he's following Hydra but you don't have to include him!

The boy was not pleased with the fact Yami was still missing, and he was infuriated when Charon had returned injured; he knew his family could handle themselves upon the mountain but he was on high-alert all the same, and so when Hydra slunk away from their claim it was the silver shark that followed after her. He pursued her through the falling snow as silently as he could manage, giving her a wide berth — she was one of their most esteemed warriors and he was not afraid for her specifically, but Revui was becoming overly protective of his family members. He did not wish to see them harmed, and he just as strongly wanted to make sure they were not going to abandon the mountain; so he followed, and when Hydra's scent grew stronger - and laced with that of a stranger - his fur spiked, but he did not draw too close. He spied upon his sister in the greydark of the early morning, and after judging her posture to be curiously neutral, he deviated from his path after her and ventured away. She was safe, and she was not too far from the mountain-home to cause him that much worry. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to investigate further from the mountain himself -- but either way, he did not linger.

Hydra was none the wiser to her brother following her; whether it was because he strayed at a far enough distance to not catch her attentions, or because she had become used to him being a shadow as she had become used to @Arcturus and her sisters being such things was left to be determined. When he quit their company altogether, Hydra found her eyes solidly upon who she sought. It helped that in near every stranger, she had idly begun to look for him. Those eyes, common a color though they were, were entirely his own. She would know them anywhere. Common in any other, but rich and without comparison, she thought. The eyes she saw were his; spirited, knowing, and she liked the way they beheld her. 

It is one of my favorite pasttimes, she quipped, I should hope that by now I have earned some skill in it. Hydra grinned toward him, and then waited no more to attempt to bridge the gap between them. She had no suspicion that he would follow her home this day, but if he were ever to, could she not give him this much? And she did not mind it; his nearness was both an incentive and a reward.

As she drew nearer, he felt the beginnings of a ghostly smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Every step appeased him, a dilent will that she would not stop short of him or otherwise try and lead him around. But Hydra knew he was not one easily tamed or bridled on a whim; everything was calculated, all the risks weighed and balanced.

"It would be a shame if you hadn't," he answered, regarding her gently. It was hard not to let his gaze wander the length of her. "But perhaps I made myself easier to be found." His smile blossomed then, knavish as ever, teasing. He could have gone to greater lengths but time hardly allowed for it.

Hydra drew against him as best she could with what little room there was amongst the trees, but found her way to success well enough. The Beta's eyes appraised him even after he spoke, and she grinned. I would not complain, if that were the case, she drawled, her eyes bright and her tone light. Hydra nosed his shoulder, considering. Is this not around the time I first found you? She asked, all honey and innocent curiosity, ears pricked. Do you remember?

He made room for her, pulling in the myriad of scents that littered her coat in passing, but no move forward was to follow. A throaty murmur trailed in the wake of her question—he had not fogotten. And how could he? There was plenty that had happened in a year for certain, but there were few ments when she hadn't occupied some part of his attention.

"I do," he replied, moving to preen at the downy tendrils of fur at her ear. "I have thought of you often, now that the snows are here." And with that of course, he had thought of her proposal and all it entailed—all it could entail, too. Try as he had to fight the ebb and flow of the world, he had almost forgotten what it was to simply go with the flow. Even stubborn bulls needed their rest.

"I came here knowing I would find you."

She did not resist his touch; it was something she idly longed for without truly knowing it, and leaned toward him with a quiet, content sigh. These moments with him were so many different things when they came; today, here and now, brought peace. The snows had returned to them, but Hydra held her tongue for a brief time as she settled next to him, thoughtful and silent up until he spoke again. 

He came, knowing he would find her. Looking for her. These two things by themself were not so unusual. Did they not seek one another, perhaps more frequently than a rogue wolf and a pack wolf ought to? They found themselves time and time again together; it was not something her path would permit her to resist, and it was not something she wanted to, either, independent of her visions of grandeur she dreamt of. 

Hydra's turned to look at him fully, her eyes beholding him. He was a majestic man, but the thickness of his winter fur brought an even more regal look to the kingly Dirge. Her blue eyes shifted to his own, and Hydra's voice was full of hope as her nose pressed gingerly against his chin in a show of affection: stay with me, she breathed, and dared to think that he might wish to.

She broke from his touch, but it was not enough to shatter the contentment that had worked its way in to his bones. Every move she made was watched; he drank her in almost until the point her nose had come to touch his chin. He had missed this, perhaps more than he bothered or allowed himself to realize. They were social creatures, after all, and he had spent more and more of his time in solitude now that the cold weather had come.

Her words were not unexpected either, yet they ignited kindling that had seemed just out of reach of faint embers left to smolder. This was a burn he felt all over, neither all good nor all bad; it was warmth he certainly sought, but too much of it would send him running just as swiftly. His steps were not the only ones meant to be calculated, as he knew Hydra chose her own carefully as well.

”Only if you stay with me as well,” he answered quiet and firm, unable or unwilling to take his gaze from her own. The fire inside was a possessive, ever ambitious one; he would not make sacrifices of his own design without taking something in return. He wanted more than just her bed—he wanted the loyalty of her companionship.

Hydra's eyes held his own at his rejoinder, not expecting the words that had come. Hydra saw the possessive gleam there, and knew it for what it was. Had all things they endured led to this? No, not quite; there was far more to their road together, and this was far from its end. But it was futile to resist. For her, for him. Had they both not tried to do so? And here they were, side by side. 

I will not leave you, and you will not leave me, she said, then, to see if she had understood him right. He, an eligible male; she, an eligible female... others had tried, though none had earned such an earnest declaration from her. He had offered her the world with his forest once. Hydra was determined to make a world with someone rather than simply be given it. She had desired a partner, an equal, and she saw that in Dirge—

But there was something traditional to her, and it was her families approval. She would take him to Moonspear with her, and she was certain that with his intentions clear, he would achieve all that and more. She saw it in her minds eye; she did not doubt she would see it come to be, in time.

Her answer satisfied him, and approval rumbled low in his throat. For all who had abandoned him, whether on good terms or not, she had yet to leave him high and dry. Nor had she left him to drown in the middle of whatever self-imposed desert he imagined himself in. At least that was the reasoning he applied to the decisions he was making right then and there, wagering them to be as good as any other idea he could. The same thread in the tapestry that bound them still laid bare, and still in view to be pulled.

It was his turn then to reach out and urge her along, to lead him as she had before. But he would stay close to her, wherever it was that she decided to take them next. Whether it was to the mountains ahead or somewhere beyond that, he would keep his desire tempered and his focus on what lay ahead. He didn't words now to affirm that he was with her; his loyalty was true.

She could not hide the surprised delight that came upon her features as he decided, then, to go with her after all. To say this was instant would be a lie; it had taken all the time they had known one another for him to accept this now, to want to follow her at all. He made no mention of his sister, and Hydra dared not mention it and shake his resolve any—but then, Hydra knew he had not forgotten her at all. There was a reason she would not be joining them then and there. Someday, perhaps. But not now. 

As he encouraged her onward, Hydra darted ahead, spry as a spring chicken, tail waving in thick, eager sweeps. She stopped for a moment, to turn and seek to engage him head on, though the movement was far from combative. No; Hydra moved to press her own nose flush against his, a clear and evident sign of her willingness to be pursued by him, before she withdrew, a sheepish grin on her features that transformed to a wicked, kittenish delight as she spun on her heel to sprint toward the mountains. 

Together, they would run into this next chapter.