Moonspear Will-o-the-Wolf

Sleep was not often a thing that escaped him. Truly, he was indulgent in it where he could be. There were days when Dirge very much preferred to be the late riser, though one could reason those days were well beyond him. Some semblance of duty kept him in a routine, though if not for that then either Hydra would wake him or one of the children.

Lately, it seemed such a luxury was a thing of the past.

Arcturus did not darken their doorstep and Revui seemed to have gone well off into whatever part of the wilderness pulled him in. Primafaya was still gone and if he had to wager, Opalia too. The thinning of their ranks troubled him, not because Moonspear seemed less lively, but rather the timing of such things. The darkness that enveloped them was more than just the night; it was impenetrable by the oncoming day, extended far beyond their forested claim and the glen they kept in check.

It was burdensome, he decided. Thick and choking in its viscosity—the sort of thing that lesser creatures would herald as an omen in their scree and squaw. But he did not believe in such things. A warning was a warning and he read it as such, and found that he should not have been surprised. Like the squabbling brothers, he too had once been marked a threat long before he had risen to it and perhaps now, he tasted the bitter notion that maybe there was something to it.

It was not so much the darkening event that precipitated such, but rather the gravity of it. To feel so wronged that an angry head would rear itself—truly, he thought this one of the core traits of an Ostrega... with the omission of himself. Even now he did not carry that mantle, refusing to believe himself cut from the cloth that had beget Charon, Hydra, and so on. Incapable of such a fury, though admittedly it too had once consumed him as it did all of them a lifetime ago.

But how it troubled Hydra was what troubled him. How deep did that betrayal go? How would such a wound fester and weep from venom? He did not wish to know the answer, let alone find out. A silver tongue could only stymie so much—it had better be gold plated instead, to be a guiding force. Morning would come and perhaps before sleep would steal his introspection from furthering, he would continue to try and smother the embers more in those closest to him.

Until then, he paced beneath the guise of patrol.

At least until Moriko snapped into his focus. She popped in through the woods, moonlight catching her silvery coat enough to draw his gaze and divert his course. A distraction would do, almost any, though perhaps not the repulsive type of unsavory sorts at their border. At least the calm waters of their meager lake were well within, rather than skirting with danger of the deep wood.

She murmured something to the surface, but he could not make the words out.

He let several moments pass, offering her privacy until silence no longer suited him.

"Not often I find someone out so late," he offered in way of greeting.

don't feel inclined to match length... not sure what i'm doing with myself apparently