Moonspear black holes in my favorite sweaters

They were downwind; it was not in their favor. But the fox yowled again, and Hydra felt the fury within her rise. It was likely here in search of a mate and the opportunity to breed, have kits of its own... it would find no such fortune here. Simply its end. Hydra's pricked ears swiveled as she adjusted their course some, and soon enough the reek of it was evident. With a rumble Hydra pressed onward, Isilme at her side. 

And there it was; red against white. There was not enough of it; Hydra wanted more, though of a far richer shade than what the vixen wore. Its yowl was cut short as its jowls clapped shut at the sight of them. Hydra was still but for a moment, peering to Isilme as she commanded: if you catch it, kill it. No children would it have here; no more males would it lure to where Moonspear whelped near. 

Flank left; I will go right, push it in your direction, she informed coolly, her malevolent gaze cast now upon their adversary witless in its season. And without waiting another instant, Hydra surged in its direction, silent and unforgiving—as death often was.