Moonspear long in tooth and soul

Had it been praise? Truly?

Dirge wasn't entirely sure, at least not now. Not given the history that had unfolded.

"Something like that," he answered, eyes ever ahead on their path. The incline was shifting upward now, and his tail passively flicked at the change, and at the sifting he did through recollection. He may as well have been the prybar to any nails being laid in, nearly disregarding the tautness of his brother-in-law's tone.

"It may have been the only time I heard something akin to praise from him. Your mother was more generous in that regard. Your sisters, too," he went on in thought, "except for Alya. She seemed rather impervious to my roguish charms." Another upward pull at his lips. Antagonistic, too. These were more of the memories he held onto; the humoring ones, the ones that seemed pivotal in whatever slice of life he had observed or cascaded through.

A sigh left him; "I imagine she'll eventually come around. You did, at least by my estimation. Unless you're a much better actor than I thought," and his gaze rounded on Arcturus then, lighthearted and tinged with humor... and a little bit of curiosity. A farce covering his attempt to pull the plug on any of the darkness that swept in.