Moonspear hopes and dreams, they will collide

The matriarch sought her mate. In the oncoming days she might again fend against it, as she had in years past, but as it stood she did not; long-legged strides took her through the Netherwood. The fog parted around her as she ascended, up and up—until she nipped at their children and tackled them each (in good spirits) before leaving them to it. Alya and Lyra were at the borders and she gave her cubs room enough to make their own decisions; the moment one disobeyed her, they would all pay for it... but she trusted them enough to roam Moonspear as they desired now, at least. 

The scent of @Dirge was strongest where flat rock lay, but beyond that was a plateau that leant plenty of room to wander; Hydra maneuvered the steep incline without error, pressing against ice with blunted claw and pushing calloused paws against slick earth so that her muscle could accomodate what made things near impossible to all else. Her tail swayed behind her as the matriarch sought to bridge the gap; how much there children had grown! How much they, too, had in all that time.

Winter had settled in with all its glory: another round of heavy snows to blanket the mountainside. While the children no doubt found this advent enjoyable, Dirge did not. The visibility on high slipped away to nil, and any chance he had hoped for in spying out a trailhead left behind by a herd or some tasty morsel had gone with it. It was disheartening, but not quite dismaying; tomorrow would be another day, and they had endured many tomorrows thus.

So with that off the books for the day, he gave in to simply wandering. Something gentle to ease the ever present worries away, at least for a moment. Winter meant a firm cap to where he could and could not go, and there was still much that he had not mapped that had been changed by the tumultuous events of weeks past. The snow would make such hazardous and an early end was something he did not fathom or wish for.

She saw him soon enough, bridging the gap swiftly by trotting to his side and nipping his shoulder gently. Husband, she hummed playfully, ears swivelling forward. The season is coming; I worry for this year, she drawled. It was due to the residual feelings of the year prior, but Hydra hoped to handle all such things far better this year as she was not even able to handle the last given her father and her respect for him, and her mother too. 

Her gaze panned to him as she shared, Our own cubs might have cousins, her tail waved behind her at the thought as she considered whether or not Nikai and Alya would ask them, as she had asked her mother. Her tone was a little hopeful for the thought, one bright little thought amidst the rest of the chaos and tumult she felt for the season she fret over now.

Quickly approaching footfalls stole him away from the vista and his thoughts, and he turned to find Hydra at his side. As always, she had news to share with him, or at the very least opened with whatever troubled her—in this case one of the very things that had crossed his mind, albeit for another reason far less troubling. And when she broached the topic of Alya and Nikai, he pondered over that as well.

"Is that what worries you, your sister and her fellow?"

He doubted it, she seemed too pleased about it, but his interest was there. They had withheld last year for one reason or another (and such he had never inquired upon), but given all that had transpired in that time it may not have been a surprise. In Hydra's and his own case, they had sealed the deal long before tragedy made a swift blow.

No, Hydra shared, she has spoken to me of her interest at least; if she decides upon it, she will ask... Hydra glanced to her mate, knowing he would be alright with cousins running amok with their own children. More distractions from their own ankles, namely his. More voices to teach how to sing, she thought amusedly. 

With a sigh, Hydra revealed her fears. What worries me is a repeat of last year, she expressed. I worry that she-wolves, no matter how clear I make myself, will wander outside of the Spear in their heat. I worry for my brother; he will need your guidance, and I cannot teach him what not to do, only tell him. Lust might confuse and consume him, given our fathers blood, her muzzle wrinkled at the thought of it. And with a sigh, she admitted a little more softly, and I worry that perhaps it was not just my fathers blood that would do such a thing. I worry that... if he could do that to my mother... she shook her head. She lay it all bare for him, trusting him enough to understand it was not him but all that had happened then to cause such thoughts. 

Hydra looked to him, eyes begging he could put such thoughts to rest. Would you do that to me? To us? She breathed, voice thick. Amekaze had been one of the most brilliant women she knew, nevermind the fact that she was her own mother. Hydra aspired to be as grand a woman as she; but if that could happen to her, could it not happen to her own daughter? To Hydra herself? 

She would kill the bitch who tried it! Dirge was her family; her husband, her mate, her partner. They had done a great job with their first litter, and she hoped for many more with him. She did not say it often, but she did her best to show the truth of her heart; Hydra loved him. It was a terrible burden for Dirge to bear.

Ah, last year.

He didn't care to make a repeat of that, though his gaze could not help but meander off to some distant point as she spoke. It was almost averted out of respect for her, knowing that what she now shared with him was a vulnerability he had not thought her possessive of, but not quite incapable of. He was no fool to know that her father's actions had wounded her in an indescribable way, just as he was no fool to know how deeply a broken heart stirred a deep rift in more than one mind.

And when he felt her gaze upon him, he met it.

"I have never strayed from you," he said gently, "and had I wanted to, I would have a long time ago. I have no desire to abandon this, or our children, for a whim." He was more than the sum of his parts, more than his father and certainly more than hers by whatever convoluted blood tied them together. He felt certain that if he had wanted to, the opportunity would have been too great to resist. Though on the other side of that coin, it had been a whim that had drawn to her to him in the first place...

His brows furrowed.

"It angers me that your father left that impression upon you." He meant it in the broadest sense; he knew that she did not single him out, or her brother. He knew that the fears that she had were very real and understandable. And he knew how he could wander, how he could charm and lead and try all he wanted, but inevitably; "I have always come back to you. It would take a great force to change that."

His words were a comfort, but only just; Hydra sought anything veiled by his silver-tongue, sought the words in what was not spoken. Had Charon done as he had on a whim? Well, the way he put it he had made it seem so. It was true, too, he could have left a long while ago; Dirge knew the colors that made her canvas—both the pretty and the foul ones—and had not for a moment diverged from her to entertain anything else. Hydra did not think of she and he as a whim; for a long time he had pursued her, and after all of that it had not been for naught. He was a constant fixture in her life; for as long as she could remember, his face was within her history. 

Her past, her present—her future. 

She was quiet still, though, as she processed it all. Dirge was prone to wandering; Hydra would never disallow him this. But her anxieties surrounding it were undeniable. Hydra wished she could have killed Speedy long ago for her face to not come to the forefront of her mind, but there that wretch was... returning now to bring ruin to her family as she had once attempted to do so long ago. 

As he spoke of coming back to her, Hydra sighed quietly. She was ashamed that she desired him to not leave her at all this season, and she would not say it, not admit that; she did not want him to think it was her fearing for his own actions and her own weakness surrounding the thought. He had not yet strayed from her that she knew; Hydra would be sure to kill whoever did attempt to come between them, right in front of him, if he ever did. 

A great force, he had said; there was no force in this lifetime greater than she. Whatever force sought to steal him from her side, she would bring it to a swift end. In solidarity, in mute acceptance and belief alike, Hydra leaned forward to press her nose against his cheek. There is no such force, she drawled, finding relief to think it so. No such force but for death, and Hydra would protect him from this too as best she was able.

If she had not been so close, he would have been inclined to warn her.

Not warn her that he believed different, but to remind her of pride and all its folly. Yet the last time he had invoked such a line it had proven itself too, so it may have been half part ingorance is bliss and half part denial that stayed his tongue. So instead he reveled in her touch, eyes closing against the inevitable, teasing rush he felt across his skin. These were the touches he prefered of her, that gentler side that she was very much capable of and yet so very good at keeping aside where she thought it belonged.

In spite of whatever impure thoughts crossed him in the moments to follow, he let them go. It would have been easy to try and twist things into his favor one particular way, to distract and deflect in any subtle direction he could. Hydra would have anticipated that, no doubt keen enough to sense that he too could sense turmoil about. She would spurn him, the walls would go right back up, and she would rampage off...

His eyes opened.

"I saw my sister a few days ago," he mentioned, letting it be the forward distraction. A pause, a solitary beat for it to sink: "She's with Mahler's group in the east." Unless his nose had gone blind and lied to him of course; their crossing of paths had been so brief that he scarcely managed to ask her anything before it had all been curbed by more pressing matters. He drew his assumptions, but only they answered so many questions before churning new ones in their wake; the distance of his gaze grew to see everything and nothing at all as even then he pondered how and why.

"In case you were wondering where I've been; I was hoping to cross paths with her again. And perhaps get a bead on if the herds will return." His gaze turned to her almost pointedly, but it too was a deception. The prairie was not the only place he would range to, past or present, but he knew the gravitas of his not-so-mentioned siblings and the concern it always drew. Just like how Nyx had eluded him before, he wondered if she would now too; just as he wondered if Hydra would doubt him further, or if he would find a way to appease himself after all.

Her ears fanned backward when Dirge spoke of seeing his sister, and Hydra withdrew to better look at him to see how he felt on the matter. Hydra had seen the she-wolf but once in passing, though had not known it was her when watching he and she from the mountains upper reaches... and when he spoke of her being with Mahler and his wolves, Hydra wondered how he felt. But he explained further, and Hydra found her heart warm as he did. He did not need to do that, but she came to realize he implicitly was able to realize all that she felt by now as surely as she could him. 

A heavy sigh released the burdensome thoughts from her shoulders and she lifted a measure, withholding from pressing closer so as to not tempt him; this time of the year she was more snappish than most, though the beginnings of it at least she was more complacent. I have been so selfish Dirge, she looked up at him now, I—how are you? How is she? With everything that went on... she had hardly thought of how he might feel, and he surely had been stepping on eggshells around it all. Hydra still felt the hurt of her parents loss keenly, and felt safe enough to speak with him on such matters... but she had never thought to ask after him in that time in between, and she felt horrible for it. 

Perhaps for the first time in her life, Hydra averted her gaze and softly said: I am sorry, for many things, truly. For that, for being less present for him when he likely may have needed her... granted, that had been but a few days ago but still. Her own hormones were shifting, and for the moment it all worked in his favor. She knew of his love for traveling, and felt guilty, too, for keeping him rooted here... though she had an idea. 

Perhaps in the Summer, we can take a vacation to the coast with the children. I imagine some of them might have inherited your inclination to scout; you could teach them, she smiled at the thought. There was much to learn for them even still, young as they were, and even still imagining him with them thrilled her and made her heart happy. But then in that way he could do what he loved, and share it with those that they loved if he so desired to; Hydra had no desire to clip his wings, though her mind still feared betrayal subconsciously during this season.

She surprised him and not in the way that he had anticipated.

He had wanted her to simply acquiesce, to have her worries soothed and to back off of wondering after him. Instead he found her withering away with an apology that first came through on self-realization and more queries hot in their trail. A part of him balked at the display; this was a far fairer creature to be found and in that gentle wonder he found he did not know how to handle her, or her guilt.

His gaze had wandered back to her in that brief moment, but he soon pulled it away thoughtlessly; it was uncontrolled, perhaps cold not to want to lay eyes on her when she was very much incline to receive him. It should not have been that easy to tear through a perceived wall, and worse to feel as though he had laid siege.

"She's alive," he answered blandly—what a struggle it was to find words. "A little worse for wear but I suspect we all are... and I didn't really ask much more than that. We were both looking for a herd to influence about, both had things to attend to." Half in truth and half in a lie; Nyx had told him more than that, of where she had gone and what she had seen, and Dirge hadn't the time to begin to process it.

Much in the same way he hadn't entirely processed the gentler side of Hydra he was witnessing. She had saved it for the children, at least when they had been far too young to speak their emotions and give voice to their complaints. Yet he wasn't about to refund it; Dirge would hold onto it as long as he could. He would do the same of her proposition of the summer as well.

"I suppose I could go see her directly," he went on, but the silence that followed it was lengthy. He could, thought even he should have, but could not put the thought aloud beyond its present state. To do so would make it seem writ in stone and thus an obligation he discovered he did not want. "She did seem content and that's all that matters. That's all that has to matter." His disappointment was contrived to a degree and better left that way; he had not told her of all that had changed in his world.

Dirge saw a side of her that none but her family ever would; her twin sisters saw more, but they had been together for nearly a year now, and known each other for longer than that. He had earned the ability to hear her, know that she was not so unfeeling a thing that she seemed. Oh to be sure, she could be toward those she cared not for... but what she felt for Dirge was well beyond that. What they had was born of lust and grown on wit and banter, and then the true feelings had come. Not as a tidal wave, as Hydra was a careful woman... but Dirge had found a place in her heart that few, in their lifetime, ever would be privy to. 

Hydra thought on what he said, some; she could not imagine running into one of her siblings and sharing so little! But he had come from a different place than she, and had a differing background too. It did not mean he loved his sister any less... that much she was certain of. The two of them both had a unique way of showing it, but that did not make it any less true. She hmm'd along with his recount; Hydra was glad to hear she was alive at least. Truly they were all worse for wear given the circumstance of the famine... Moonspear better than most, fortunately. 

You could, Hydra drawls, agreeable there. She liked Mahler, and trusted him; she knew Nyx was in good, capable hands. She inches a little closer as he finishes; however it was he felt, whatever he thought, she wanted him to be sure she would support him through it. Perhaps she will visit you here, too, she hoped aloud; Hydra wanted to meet the woman, and hoped she might want to meet the children... thinking that some sort of incentive to lead her here someday, she asked, does she know she is an aunt, now?

LIke he often did, she pulled at threads lain bare; her words made him recoil in all but outward appearances. It was in that outward appearance that he held tight to some level of stoicism, some air of seriousness that would fend off the worst of her probing gaze and take the burn out of baiting, venomous inquiries. He regretted bring the topic to light, suddenly trading in the digging of one hole for another.

"No," she did not know, nor had he told her. Considered it yes, the thought had so very much crossed his mind... but it was a delicate topic to breach and not one that he was particularly keen on. And where words would have swiftly come to him to save him, they rebuked him now to the point where not even a dismissive, feigning bothered shake of his head could not dislodge it.

This was a conversation he no longer desired to partake in.

He sought purchase elsewhere.

"But if we go to the coast in the summer, does that mean you aren't anticipating their siblings?"

No, he had said—

Why not? Her alert visage asked, ears leaning ever-so-slightly forward. He seemed keen to shift subjects, and Hydra blinked at him—he likely knew she did not desire this, not with the way he had simply said no and nothing else. If not the children, does she know of me? Hydra queried then; perhaps Nyx was barren, and could have no children so the topic was a sore one. She sought to better understand to be rid of this feeling of vexation with him from hiding what Hydra had imagined was a big portion of his life, now—the same as her. Naturally, there was no one who did not know about Dirge; from the new males that pursued her, such as Mahler, and her own family. 

She was proud of him—of them. Did he not feel the same? 

Pointedly Hydra remained silent to his next question; she was, of course, but hoped to take them there as well... or else let the pack look after them for a time if they were old enough. Most importantly here and now was what they presently discussed; she wondered at her own place in his life beside his family. Was that not what they were now? What they had made together? There was no accusation in her tone, no anger—and on her features was the plain desire to understand. Hydra did not want this to turn to a fight, only to know and know why if it turned out Nyx knew nothing of her.

He could not lead her away from the topic through futile attempts, and felt dread seep in from whatever well contained it. In those cavities he felt something bitter arise to replace it, anger but not quite, yet close enough that perhaps it did not matter of which it were; her face spoke volumes more than any tone of voice could have, but perhaps it was the neutral probing that bothered him so.

He never spoke of his family and for good reason, but only reasons good to him.

And he found himself incapable of finding a way to talk himself out of a snare.

The dread built—or was it a guilt?

"No," he said through a dislodging sigh—how to explain this? "I didn't get that opportunity. It was more that we saw one another in passing, she didn't linger," and he had not pursued her, "I was just glad to know she was still alive after so long." His gaze dropped towards the cold earth beneath his feet, his ears fanned back. He felt certain he was cornered, her willingness to understand more of a guise that held back something far more worse.

Childishly, perhaps unlike himself, he concluded softly: "I don't really want to talk about it. I haven't even thought on it much until now." The last ditch effort to try and steer her away, though he was already yielding to her, almost squirming beneath her gaze at the uncomfortable topic. He shouldn't have opened his mouth, he decided, and thought perhaps he would never again.

Hydra listened well to all of his cues. Discomfort that she had caused, and distress. She had not meant to, not in him; she had only wanted to understand. For whatever reason her husband had not had the reunion he had perhaps wished for, and Hydra had dredged that up for him. She felt her own guilt for that, though swallowed it whole. The Ostrega took a step nearer to him and with a sigh, she said, alright, If he did not wish to talk about it, she would never force him to; she cared for him too much for that. 

Nor did she want to be the root of his ill feelings. Whatever it was, he had his reasons... and this seemed like he had too little time to discover what even he wished to know. His behavior made it seem all the more genuine to her, and she had no reason to doubt him. We do not need to talk about that, she relented. Nyx was important to her because she was important to Dirge, but she felt vexed with the woman for secondhandedly making her resent her for Hydra's perceived treatment of her own husband. 

Dirge only cared! And she did not linger! 

Why not?! 

That was alright. Hydra would not walk away from him as Nyx might have, or perhaps as he walked away from Nyx. In solidarity, she pressed her muzzle against his cheek. Warmth whoosed from it as she shyly revealed, I love you, you know. And what we have brought into this world. You have given me... so much, and in turn she had, too. But at last, she did not want him to think she did not recognize it. Hydra did not feel like she had to say it at all, but the feelings in her heart came to the fore at last. Ruthless, yes, even in her love. Whatever you do, or do not, want to talk about—I am here to listen. Or not, she offered candidly, a small little grin planted on her lips... though her eyes would reveal to him that she meant every word.

A heavy bead of silence strung itself.

He did not expect her to relent, but she did. If not for the overwhelming grasp that he was treading a line better untoed, the surprise would have rippled through him. Had he truly wormed his way into her heart that way? Her words did suggest just as much and he knew that he would not open that particular box in Pandora's collection again. It wasn't worth the trouble. Nothing was worth the trouble of prying open anything that had to do with him.

She pressed in close to him, her voice hushed against his cheek, and his relaxing posture was more for show than he really felt. What a burdensome thing the past was.

"I know," he answered quietly. "Perhaps it's best saved for another time." Another time when he was better prepared to answer her questions with more concrete weaves than the filmsy paper ones he had thrown up hastily. She could have pushed them over easily, just as she could have pushed him for answers. But she did not; he was minutely grateful, but well harried beneath it.

"There are other things to worry ourselves with than that," he went on, finding confidence. "Wasn't there something you were going to tell me more about?" She had been busy, of that he was aware, and giving her the opportunity to fill him in seemed a distraction better than none. He knew she wouldn't waste the time spilling where diplomacy had led her next.

Their time together had granted Hydra a great deal of respect for her mate. Oh, to be sure, she would ever be his pit viper—but she was many things more than that to him, too, as he had become that for her in her own time of need. It was not fear that caused her not to press, but she trusted him enough to feel that she did not need to. He was not her father, and she would not project her fears upon him. Hydra was more patient a woman than most, and she meant it when she rejoined with: whenever you are ready. Her tail waved at that, and as he spoke again Hydra nodded, remembering. 

There was a great deal Hydra always shared with him, and sometimes she was inclined to repeat herself to comb over the finer details of it all. Much more, now, she drawled, shifting where she stood as she considered where best to start. Hmm... she began, thinking. Well, Moonspear—we are very much so full. You know of my desire to stake a claim over the Wilderness, and I think... perhaps we ought to train Dragomir to lead, and be at the helm of one such group in the beginnings of our expansion. He among our adult ranks has shown the most promise beyond Jarilo, and my brother has made it clear to me he wishes to stay, she drawled—which came as no surprise to her, truth be told. It seemed to be the way of those that came from Charon and Amekaze. Loyalty to one another, and to this landscape, too.

Thankful for change of topic, he found it easy to switch to something that they often discussed—the growth of their would be kingdom. He could not, however, mask the perl of his ears as she dropped another name into their amist.

"Dragomir?" He thought fondly of the boy, who by now was much more of a man than the wary, weary child they had taken in. But much had befallen him, and Dirge could not help but wonder if such a role would suit him. "Do you believe he's ready for such a thing? He is promising, but he's young. He's been through a lot."

His brow knit, then eased.

Maybe Dragomir embodied more of an ambitious spirit than he had recognized, and he probed: "Has he shown interest in more than just defending the borders?"

Someday, I think, she rejoined with a nod. For he was promising, after all. He would need to be groomed for it... and I would speak with him, to see if it would be something he wanted even for himself. But... she hummed, as you said, he is promising. He has been through much, but it has not made him any less. If anything, it made him become more. He was young, but not unwise. As far as him bringing it up? No, the matriarch admitted, not yet. It has been more my own line of thinking, lately. For he had much more to learn even still, but even still she thought he a worthy candidate. 

And in speaking of worthy candidates and things such as this, Arcturus had an open role in leadership beside him. With him still on her mind, she drawled, And Jarilo... he will be starting a family here, if his decides to, with Kukutux. He has worked hard here for all of his life; perhaps he might aid Arcturus in his responsibilities, she considered. True that Jarilo would be becoming a father, too, but his longevity and his unyielding support of their mountain made it a topic worth discussing, she felt. What do you think?

She gave him much to think about, and all of them were things that had not crossed his mind. He had been content with their lot in life, unable to quite recall a span of time when Arcturus had not been there in that upper echelon with them. Adding to it should have seemed a natural course, but he found he had little substance to supply to it.

In the long and short truth of it, he had done better to heel with the whims that crossed her mind. He had what he wanted, he had fulfilled desires both carnal and not and reaped both benefit and consequence alike. For the longest time, he had not tired of it, but the fringes of such were also not far from his mind.

His silence may have been telling, too; he stalled for time with a thoughtful hum.

"Perhaps Dragomir in time would be up for such a thing," he finally said. "But Jarilo is deserving too. I suppose it would be up to them, and whether or not the time was right. One mountain does hardly make a kingdom." His features contorted then into a jesting sneer, but he hadn't forgotten about her desire to have a hold over the expanse of the wilderness.

Which on that note...

"I haven't heard from our neighbors in a while either. I wonder what they've busied themselves with."