Moonspear like the legends of the phoenix, all ends with beginnings

When he permitted her nearness, Hydra began. With the waters aiding her, Hydra's fangs were proverbial combs, nibbling to untangle the unseemly knots and gently raking through otherwise. She utilized her tongue, as well, to remove dirt—she was quite gentle, throughout the process. The grooming ritual was therapeutic to Hydra, and she fet all the closer to Dirge for it. In truth, to be groomed was her favorite bonding activities, and though she oft only repayed the favor to her sisters she felt the benefits in growing closer to Dirge were, well, limitless. He was bold, and not shy, and daring enough to contend with her. But how was he at grooming others? That was absolutely essential; Hydra was a savage wretch, but he could not have been more on point with his created nickname for her. Ah, well, that was why she was doing what she was doing now, wasn't she—to show him how it was done.

It was a mind-numbing, blissful task. Hydra preened at him, moving toward his neck. She knew for survival reasons it was a sensitive spot—but having endured the grooming from only her sisters otherwise, she did not think of the, well, more delightful aspects of it—and so slowed as she cleaned the apex of one shoulder, noting the muscle there.