Moonspear blood [m]oon rising

And from his own perch along those rises and falls, Dirge did not linger far off. It was par for course in their arrangement, one never all that far away from the other; at least once or twice in the day their paths would diverge and cross whether they intended it to. Though he had his moments where he did indeed stray from the mountainous claim, inevitably he was drawn back to the vistas offered and ultimately, to her. This was no different today, nor was he entirely immune to the subtle shifts of her being.
Whatever allure she had possessed before seemed amplified, but it was hardly more than the obvious. It was in the way she had begun to carry herself, in the way fire seemed to burn in and behind her piercing gaze. He liked to think he was on the prepice of just more than the mountain's edge; he thought he was on the verge of uncovering something good.

It was a snaking path down from where he descended to get to her, but he made it swiftly. A deft, precise step here and there made easy work of the loose stones and loam; he did not feel the need to mask his approach to her even when the rocks scattered in the wake of his movements, for it was a good natured line of interest that drew him in. Whatever she was studying out there along that horizon, whatever considerations crossed her mind, he was intrigued. Even with the gentle wave of his tail to tie all of that into a neat package, he knew she did not stand there with decisions lightly across her shoulders.

"Something catching your fancy out there?" An opening line to another act—his eyes scanned the incline below and then out for what may have been her point of interest.