Moonspear Will-o-the-Wolf

Somewhere in the midst of her conversation, it seemed to merge with her thoughts and Dirge was only left to infer that something breached her consciousness. A memory, fleeting at best, one that seized the joy from her tone long enough to streak it with sorrow before she found herself again. A memory, one that he imagined was stirred up by the very brine in those coastal waters.

It is a thing he knows a bit too well, a thing that he suffocates as the tinges of her sadness become chased and held at bay by a dismissive laugh. He mirrors that mirth, a little slower to relent and close the door on things better left dead and buried. Saor and Nyx cross his thoughts but rather than sorrow to greet him at the turn of a lock, it is a soreness.

Reluctant as he is to believe it, the coast had been a scene for parting.

He had once left Hydra along its shores too, an eon ago.

“I‌ do, at times,” he tells her gently, “but often there is more than enough to keep me from wondering after it. I find the sea a captivating thing, truly unlimited in its span. How strange it is that it appears to go on forever—perhaps it does.” He ruminated on those feelings instead. “I had once imagined my life to go the same way, and yet here I am with more treasures than it could offer.”

Once a pleasant lie, that, but one he had convinced himself of until it had become truth.