Moonspear ausdauer ist eine kunst

On and on the two pale specters had traveled across endless terrain. The journey had done nothing to dampen him; Guildenstern was alive when he was wandering. To be able to offer his services to the weary mother in a time that she needed it was not unlike the other tasks that he had shouldered in the past. Their travels had not been as extensive as the others that had carried him across endless plains of frozen tundra and dangerous cold. The warm summer air of the Teekon Wilds was an easy environment for the knight to take to. To have been born and tempered by the frigid northern winds, only to be set free in the light of the sun, was surely a blessing to the fighter.
 
At the base of the mountain – where their scent was strongest – the two white wanderers paused. The woman turned to him with a soft light in the silver of her gaze. Guildenstern regarded her without expression, taking time as his eyes wandered the narrow length of her muzzle and the softness of her gaze. She thanked him. For a moment, he felt taken aback by the extension of her appreciation. The offer in question was one that he could not have denied; it was his purpose for existence, after all.
 
“There is no need for thanks,” the wayward sellfang responded in his rumbling baritone.
 
Knowing not why they would venture to this point; Guildenstern drew his crown upward and waited to see who would greet them on the edges of the claim. A proud sigh expanded his lungs, filling his chest and extending his shape, before he released it. The warrior had managed to remain by her side until then and he did not imagine that he would be forced to leave her until his services had been expired. How long would she need him? That was still left unanswered. The pallid knight knew only that she could request he stay for as long as she might need him.