Moonspear the cold and the bare grasped

His turn to roam the mountainside while @Hydra searched—it was hardly warmer there than it had been in the flatlands. The earth still gave a tremble here and there, but it seemed less powerful now than originally, and he wondered if maybe it was tiring of whatever it had needed to fear. If, of course, the earth were capable of such a thing. Though the reality of it was that he grew used to it, just as quickly as he adapted to the chill in the air and the fact that frost and snow were already clinging.

However, once the children had been roused and off to terrorize @Jarilo for a spell, he took advantage of the free time to stretch his own legs once again. It had felt good to get out and get off of the mountain, though he had learned things did not fair so well from the sturdy peak. Smoke still blotted parts of the eastern sky, but the overcast and haze he could not see it, yet knew it had hardly gone away.

They were fortunate that it did not draw closer, at least not in the way that he set eyes on @Lyra on the trail ahead. An ear turned at something in the trees and for a moment, his hopes rose that perhaps Jarilo was about to set one of the kids on her... but that moment did not come. It was the opportunity he used to close in the distance between them, a chuff off his lips to garner her attention.

"Are you escaping the pups too?" A smile crossed him, briefly. "Best we had while our ankles are intact."

The tremors continued day after day, even after they had shorn off half the cliffside above Silverlight and exploded some other mountain to the east. The world felt like it was falling into chaos, though it seemed their mountain was, for the most part, immune to the quakes. Lyra still saw shifted trees and rocks and rubble strewn about the place, however; she was mindful to watch her step as she loped along the trails.

There was also still the issue of the herds leaving the Wilds, no doubt spooked by the shuddering earth. It was for this reason the Ostrega doggedly made her way up the mountainside towards the higher peaks, in hopes of getting a clearer view of the lands below. She was no tracker, but perhaps she could spot the stragglers of the herds and keep tabs on them before all of the prey left the valley entirely.

Her focus was broken, however, when a sudden friendly chuff caught her attention. Halting and turning to see her sister's mate, Lyra offered a smirk and flick of her tail to his quip. "Who did they inherit those teeth from?"

Ah, good, it was definitely Lyra based on the reaction alone. He had his reasons to pick up on a chord of tension out of @Alya, but even then it only went so far as time had worn it down. The children were certainly a source to help smooth things over, and at least in Lyra's company he did not fear a sharp rebuttal. It also, however, did not stop him from bestowing her with the same sort of antagonistic charm that he offered Hydra, either.

"Your sister, of course," he murmured in passing to her ear, unable to hide a cheeky smile. He saw no point to them stopping and continued on, though his pace slowed so that she would make up the difference quickly.

"You and your sisters are a... bitey sort, I do believe," he went on, this time not a murmur to the winds. "All I've done is simply teach them how to use their mouths for more than assaulting one another, and us." No doubt she had been witness to endless howling and carrying on long before they had mastered their tongues for making sentences.

No doubt she could attest that they talked now as often as they bit.

His gaze swept around to her then: "Were you heading out to hunt?"

It was a suggestive question, but Dirge answered correctly. His grin as he strode past was responded to with an attempted nip at his ear. Of course it had been Hydra they had taken after, at least when it came to their teeth. Lyra knew she and her sisters had been a source of constant pain in more ways than one for Charon and Amekaze as they were growing up, and their descendants were no different. She followed after the man as he moved past her, falling into step with him.

Well, bitey was one way of putting it. She was glad the pups learnt that from their mother, but she was also glad for Dirge's teachings as well. They would be well-rounded warriors, with just as much ability to talk their way out of situations as they could fight. Or at least Lyra hoped. No doubt the man's roguish charm would rub off on at least one of his children.

"And I'm grateful for that," she responded with a smile. Now if only he could somehow teach Osiris to tone it down a notch.

At his question, her features darkened a little and she gave her head a shake. "The herds are moving away," she said, before looking at the path ahead. "I'm going to see if there are any...left overs." For where wolves were concerned, a lone deer was a dead deer.

At the darkening of her features, his thoughts darkened as well. They had been fortunate enough to have been somewhat prepared for the winter ahead, but with the trembling earth and all it had wrought to contend with now... Dirge did not want to ponder just how grim reality could end up being.

Whatever contentedness he carried with him was fleeting and nonchalant; he could take enjoyment that Lyra approved of his teaching methods and would remember such, but the problems before each and every one of them were mounting quite the attack. So at best all he offered initially was an agreeable note in his throat—he too was aware of the thinning game, though it was far more than thin now. He had hoped to teach the children to hunt properly, to aid them when they were able with managing a herd; they could hardly do it now, and they understood the finer, keen points of smaller game well.

"I fear it will remain that way for some time," he added, sighing. "The first snows have come and with various passages to our north blocked from the rock slides, the herds will navigate elsewhere. If the quaking earth hasn't already encouraged them to do so," and he thought more grimly, if the distant smoke in the eastern sky hadn't driven them away. But they were a clever sort even with their proclivity of finding trouble, and they would endure.

But he pointed out: "We've been lucky so far."

The herds, or lack thereof, were not the only worry either. With no big game and the pups coming of age during the winter, they would surely miss out on a big milestone in their development — their first pack hunt. No doubt they had already been taught the basics, but putting theory into practice was where they would really learn. They couldn't exactly hone their skills as a team on starved squirrels during the winter (as entertaining as that might be to see).

Lyra mirrored Dirge's sigh as he spoke, his words only confirming her suspicions. It seemed this famine was here to stay for the foreseeable future. If things went from bad to worse, they could of course always leave, but the very thought made Lyra shudder. She would rather die upon Moonspear than desert the place her parents had worked so hard to build an empire upon; an empire Hydra and Dirge would only expand. No, Moonspear would survive this winter by whatever means necessary, and they would emerge all the stronger for it.

"Luck will only get us so far," she replied softly. What he said was true, but they as a pack needed to be smarter now with how they stored food, how they hunted...and with who they decided to let in among their ranks especially. Her mind briefly flit to the lightning-touched woman, Andraste, as a small frown knit across her brow. "We can't let anyone take advantage of our generosity anymore," she said, turning to Dirge with sudden seriousness. She didn't blame Hydra nor him for accepting such freeloaders, but she made it clear in her gaze that she would not tolerate it happening again while they were in the grips of winter.

Luck will only get us so far, and how true that was. He could think them lucky all he wanted; the truth of the matter that lied ahead had less to do with luck than it did their ability to accrue resources. Just as he knew there were ways to curb their consumption of said resources, starting with the bottom-fed.

"I was under the impression we hadn't much generosity to begin with," he rejoined, "there's been little in the way of hesitance regard who to dispatch and when." Even ones he would have preferred to retain had been driven out and away. Yet a smaller grouping would suit them through a less robust period as he thought aloud—"Yet so long as the children don't suffer I've little desire to tend to errant wards at our claim." His gaze sought hers, a resolute duskiness lurked therein. "They'll either wander on or make a mistake too short lived to dwell upon and regret." A grim reality, one that played to the hearts he knew she and her sisters carried. A blood sport he had little taste for, yet would endure if it spared his children not to hunger.

He wanted them to hold onto that naivety a while longer.

And he wanted reality to stay at bay.

She hummed in response to his comment, agreeing but also partially opposing his view. It was true, Moonspear wasn't particularly known to be welcoming, but she was afraid their reputation had softened somewhat. Hydra was essentially faultless in her eyes, though Lyra was beginning to question what made her sister so willing to take in all those who turned up at their borders. They showed up, called for an audience and flaunted their skills while saying the right words, and into the fold they went. No test, no trial, no easy way of knowing if they were going to abandon them when all was said and done.

Though it was true, those who disgraced their name were chased out and even gained a bounty if their crimes were grievous — the image of Speedy appeared in her mind which she cast away with a low rumble. If they ever saw her again...

Focusing back on her company, Lyra met his darkened gaze, glad to know he too shared her sentiments (perhaps just less intensely so). A smirk pulled on the corner of her mouth as he spoke of those who would suffer Moonspear's wrath if they made a mistake, knowing from Hydra that Dirge was more the sort to ask questions first. Too agreeable, her husband was. She would train him yet, Lyra hoped. No matter, regardless of his say, she knew her and her sisters would not shy away from simply consuming those who had made a mistake should winter prove more terrible than they anticipated.

"Mm, generosity was the wrong word," she mused before giving him a half-smile. "But I'm glad you agree." Turning then to look out over the lands below their mountain now that they were high enough, Lyra frowned as she saw how barren the landscape was. The dark spots that would usually indicate a herd grazing amongst the plains were simply not there. Even the deep paths indented in the grass while they moved about had vanished. It was a worrying sight. "Nothing," she huffed, staring despondently.

In her wake at the vantage point, Dirge let his facial features twist slightly. Generosity was the wrong word? He thought it a bit fitting, albeit tongue-in-cheek at best. At least they didn't rend flesh from bone with every little infarction at their border, but he imagined the numbers were close. He stayed with the topic in thought as he joined her to survey, and by then his features had settled to neutrality.

And similar to the last time he had laid eyes on such a place, it was void where he anticipated deep paths through snow drift and bank alike. No sign, no hint, not even a trace that something particularly large and worthwhile had come to cross their path.

"Merciful, then," he rejoined in decision, "we are what this season seems to be not."