Moonspear a place to anchor

He had expected something. Certainly not the low-pitched, beginner notes of a howl. Atlas wiggles frantically on the ground, coming to lean on his elbows. He thought such utterances reserved for more important matters than play. With the climbing tenor of Dirge's howl, he thinks such restrictions could be bent. Just this once.

One supple ear cups back to the shortlived whines of his brother. They grow in volume and frequency, ever striding to match Dirge's voice. Atlas does not fight the urge to sound off, either. The shrill noise only a whelp could produce builds within him until it eventually erupts from his yawning jaws. He throws his head back with the passion of it all, taken completely by the sonorous choir of his family.

Oh, Dirge. What have you unleashed?