Moonspear broken halo

It did her no good to be unproductive, but this night it could not be helped. She would dedicate these hours to her sister; she navigated the skies with the stars, wondering the very same thing he had when he chuffed to her. Hydra jolted to attention—it was easy to see she was out of sorts when she was unobservant. She did not feel herself at all; she felt weak in this sadness and wanted to discard it. 

She only wanted to feel rage; that she could understand and work through. 

But that could not be done tonight. 

These thoughts ran through her mind as she, lost in her own mind, stared morosely at him. She blinked again to come to, and sighed. Sorry, she started, looking back to the stars, I can't think straight. She felt as she had that very day. Outraged and lost. Her sisters were blameless in what they did that day—the death of their sister had blindsided them all, and Gannet foolishly threw himself in their line of fire. Hydra thought about that, too, now. He had himself to blame for his own injury—and that was not because of the death of their sister, but because he had seen it fit to attempt to come against her. She had thought they might become friends, she and Gannet, and maybe there still was a shot there, but on this eve she felt angry and hurt and sad.