He longed to see them, he had discovered. Soon, she had told him.
It hadn't bothered him that much at first, that @Hydra kept them from prying eyes. Such was her prerogative as a mother to make those decisions and he was far from begrudging her of them. It wouldn't have been worth sparking ire or feeling the sear of teeth against his flesh to test his boundaries to an extreme. But he had tested them, had stolen glimpses and glances of babes eager to worm their way out into the world. She would not be able to keep them corralled forever.
It was a warm day, bordering uncomfortable in the lowland reaches of their claim and thus Dirge had sought cooler, higher refuge. The rocky paths and long stretches of Moonspear's cliffsides were more familiar to him now than they ever had been, but the need to wander had not quieted completely. He was imbued with restlessness, not feeling particularly inclined to hunt or traipse about the borders that were as quiet as ever. There may have been a new face or two among them but he had yet to go entirely out of his way to meet them.
The introversion wasn't unexpected as he settled into a different mantle. He kept busy over the siren song of leisure. Hydra and the children were looked after though she had many to fill that role, and at day's end it was often his company she sought. Soon, she had insisted and he wondered if he should have considered it a promise. Her word was as good as one, this he knew, and changed the path he took to avoid what was once the grisly scene of their coming up. It had been a spell of time counted not, but he would not cross the hallowed ground knowingly.
He knew the bodies had been moved, tucked away far from the grasp of opportunistic carrion scavengers. It wasn't a lot of leg work to determine who had done what; there had been something more settled and distant in the faces of two of her siblings. He hadn't asked, hadn't planned to—what was done, was done, simply put. Silence across the span and shade of the spire would serve them well and he would not look back upon what could have made the difference between then and now.
Reaching a span of stone that jutted out from the ledge, he stretched himself upon it with a lazy yawn. The sun was warm and the stone just as inviting; the consideration for the notion of a nap crossed his mind. Resting his head across his legs, Dirge let his gaze fix to a distant point, and drifted.
It hadn't bothered him that much at first, that @Hydra kept them from prying eyes. Such was her prerogative as a mother to make those decisions and he was far from begrudging her of them. It wouldn't have been worth sparking ire or feeling the sear of teeth against his flesh to test his boundaries to an extreme. But he had tested them, had stolen glimpses and glances of babes eager to worm their way out into the world. She would not be able to keep them corralled forever.
It was a warm day, bordering uncomfortable in the lowland reaches of their claim and thus Dirge had sought cooler, higher refuge. The rocky paths and long stretches of Moonspear's cliffsides were more familiar to him now than they ever had been, but the need to wander had not quieted completely. He was imbued with restlessness, not feeling particularly inclined to hunt or traipse about the borders that were as quiet as ever. There may have been a new face or two among them but he had yet to go entirely out of his way to meet them.
The introversion wasn't unexpected as he settled into a different mantle. He kept busy over the siren song of leisure. Hydra and the children were looked after though she had many to fill that role, and at day's end it was often his company she sought. Soon, she had insisted and he wondered if he should have considered it a promise. Her word was as good as one, this he knew, and changed the path he took to avoid what was once the grisly scene of their coming up. It had been a spell of time counted not, but he would not cross the hallowed ground knowingly.
He knew the bodies had been moved, tucked away far from the grasp of opportunistic carrion scavengers. It wasn't a lot of leg work to determine who had done what; there had been something more settled and distant in the faces of two of her siblings. He hadn't asked, hadn't planned to—what was done, was done, simply put. Silence across the span and shade of the spire would serve them well and he would not look back upon what could have made the difference between then and now.
Reaching a span of stone that jutted out from the ledge, he stretched himself upon it with a lazy yawn. The sun was warm and the stone just as inviting; the consideration for the notion of a nap crossed his mind. Resting his head across his legs, Dirge let his gaze fix to a distant point, and drifted.
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