Floki had departed them, and though Charon and Aria had sought him out Hydra sought to make a last ditch effort to find him. Hydra was no scout—she was a protector, a guardian. But Hydra had always enjoyed Floki and his patience for her, as well as his neverending tolerance for her abuses. Hydra was older, now, and though she had matured quite a bit from the cub she was, Hydra could not forget her fathers (seemingly) favorite companion. 

She hated to leave Moonspear. And the further away she drifted from her pack, the stronger her desire to return was. Alya and Lyra both knew of her intent, and though normally Hydra would invite them along with her she did not wish to endanger them. But Hydra felt terribly unbalanced without them on either side of her, and her unease was apparent. 

Hydra had not caught a single lick of evidence that he had been around here. He had been gone for some time, but there was a part of her that hoped to find... something. As she pushed through a thin forest, there came a clearing and a frozen lake. In the distance there was a sharply cut figure, swarthy and dark and easy to spot amidst all the white surrounding them. She realized that she, too, was a sore thumb. For the moment, she stood there awkwardly. She was terribly out of her element and comfort zone, and painfully aware of it.

She looked to her right, until she felt the weight of his gaze upon her. Then Hydra turned her face back toward him, noting his course and more importantly that he had moved toward her. Hydra, too, was afraid—though as to why, she was uncertain. Hydra had never endured the evils of the world, and lived a good and safe life upon Moonspear. Floki was the first true wolf in her life that could be considered a significant loss, but was he gone? Hydra did not know how to think it so. Not knowing death, she could not form the thought or even the idea. She could only wonder. 

Hydra was keenly aware of the absence of her sisters, though. Her left and right. The halves that made her whole. Who she was without them was not yet known to Hydra. She struggled to find some semblance of self, but could grip nothing. Her breath formed small clouds around her nostrils, and her plume lashed behind her. She stood there, appearing self-assured, though her ears flicked atop her head. Hydra, unused to company unless it belonged to a wolf within her fathers ranks, was uncertain as to what to do. She protected nothing on these free lands, and so had no need to behave in an aggressive manner as was her typical nature. Not territorial over this scrap of land, Hydra determined that more than anything else, even over her uncertainty and the measure of fear it brought her, she was curious. And so she, too, darted some odd steps forward, her ears pricked atop her crown.

His body language was inviting and encouraging. This she could read, and her tense form seemed to grow relaxed. Hydra had never been taught to be cautious, though in meeting new wolves she was more like her mother than she was her father. Where in all other planes Hydra was confident and bold, this was new. She stopped abruptly as he bounded in her direction, snow flinging about as he did so. Her ears cupped backward and she tilted her head, her sharp features expressing her wonderment. But it appeared his energy was contagious, and Hydra let her forelimbs slide forward some before they slapped roughly against the earth. She broke the quiet tranquility around them, loosing a sharp bark as she, too, rose and made a rapid burst forward, pausing immediately alongside him.

He was taller than she was, she noted. Larger, too. She was svelte and slight, and his masculinity was an utter contrast to her feminity. She was rigid again beside him, but this time it was not out of nervousness but excitement of the game they had seemingly begun. She was in his reach, but as soon as he moved toward her Hydra would (attempt to) dart away from his clutches.

Watching him, Hydra sensed his anxiety was equal, perhaps greater, than her own. She shifted her weight and turned toward him again, uncertain and unsure again as he had not made to chase her—she lowered her head some, wondering if she had done something wrong. Hydra was terribly out of her element, and she wondered what Alya had done to not feel that way. Hydra was meant to be bold, brave. But in his company she felt... shy, and curious. Hydra could hardly look at him.

But when she did she noted the expression of suspicion, confusion. As he sniffed her prints and whined, Hydra's ears fell flat atop her head. Again, she averted her eyes. Sorry, she expressed, I... don't know what I'm doing, she admitted, averting her eyes. I've never met anyone outside of Moonspear before! It was exciting, but also nervewracking. 

And then she looked back to him. 

This, before her, was a boy. What if this was Cypress? Alya's Cypress? Hydra tried to remember what Alya had said he'd looked like... but she couldn't remember. She lifted her head back to its former station, one ear rotating to the left as a pile of snow fell from tree to earth with a quiet thud. The birdsong had resumed again, but the worlds quiet was a muffled one with the snows. Cypress had been dark, and this male before her was also dark... What color were his eyes? Contrasting with the hues upon his face were the most brilliant green Hydra had ever seen, and her tail waved. Uhm, I'm Hydra, she introduced at last.