Moonspear a place to anchor

Though he would claim it easy, Dirge found it difficult not to marvel at the children. He had warmed to them far quicker than he had ever anticipated, or perhaps they had simply wormed their way into his heart. It was a rather unexpected development; he had never been one much for children in general. Yearlings, perhaps, if only because they were fully capable of thinking for themselves and expressing it as well as any experienced adult. But infants?

Well, perhaps to consider this lot fully infants was a bit much. They were clearly growing swiftly into something else, something more, and already he could spy the handiwork belonging to none other than Hydra in the way they thought through things. He combated this with his own behaviors, inclined in some instinctive reflex for them to push their boundaries much in the way that Atlas came to gnaw a toe. Had he felt like it—the playful growl pulled a smirk to his lips, and his head swooped low to meet the boy.

If Hydra would make them stalwart sentinels to stand all in a line, then Dirge would bestow them with a raucous design of his own. He gently returned the little growl with one of his own, but let it draw out into a soft howl. The volume was ever increasing, no doubt his perhaps the loudest, but the hint was getting across what he planned to do. Even with the stick firmly lodged in his mouth, he heard Osiris unable to avoid trying to join, and the others...?

He had no doubts they would too.

Hydra would surely beat knots on his head for this later.