Silverlight Terrace like winter we are cruel

Moonspear afforded the perfect views of the valley, though Hydra had left it for some brief reprieve. Hydra knew that soon enough she would need to remain, once her mother again bore her latest litter. Hydra hoped that at least one of them would prove to be useful, good, and strong. Jarilo seemed that way; Hydra supposed she ought to consider making him her fully-fledged apprentice. She had been busy, lately, with the turmoil life had thrown her way. She decided swiftly that her trade would be the best distraction and, with it, becoming the strongest, fiercest she-wolf the Valley might ever know. 

It was a lofty goal, but thus far in her life Hydra had achieved everything she set her mind to. And her mind was set. 

So she moved to return home, relatively at peace. Her jaunt outside had been short but worthwhile. The smell of blood was detected, though she was not given pause as she moved forward. This was no man's land, after all, and she knew very well how to hold her own. In any case, she was not interested in the meal of a stranger; Hydra was a pack-wolf, and she never needed to question when her next meal was. Even when a hunt was not successful, another would be—she had never struggled with sustenance, that was for certain. 

And so as she broke through the woods and noted a sizable man there, eating, Hydra spared him but a glance and a brief nod as she continued onward. Hydra certainly did not like to be interrupted during her meal, and by the looks of the man she had seen (brief though it was) she felt he might very well echo the sentiment. Still, as she moved on, her attention remained upon him, all senses engaged; she was no fool and knew of the dangers in the wild. Such a thing she wore on her sleeve, every step in her confident stride somehow implying a violent consequence if bothered.