Moonspear the silver lining seldom lies in sight too plain to see

The first day of Spring brought Hydra's desire to let go.

This she could not wholly do, given her astounding ability to hold a grudge, but she willed herself to forget the faces, the voices, the scents, the sights, of wolves who were only her friend when it was convenient to them alone. They had known her, known what she would do for them all as well as for her family and her pack, and the moment it became inconvenient to them they elected to abandon the friendship, abandon her, abandon Moonspear. Each of them were pathetic, and perfect for one another—she echoed her mothers sentiment. Good riddance. Her heart had hardened, but it swelled beneath the stone as her mother rallied them.

Hydra joined, her voice loud and proud in equal measure. Moonspear was better off, and now without the dead weight they were stronger, better. She pitied Rannoch's path, she liked to think he was doomed to a terribly cyclical failure. But at the end of the day, as her lungs emptied, she found her desire to think anything for or of him exhausting and a pointless waste of energy.

Moonspear would thrive, now, truly; she supposed she had them to thank for that, at least. It could never have happened with a single one of them here, and that she believed.