Moonspear toredig

To snuff out the pride of a prideful man takes great effort. For that, the Blackfeather woman must be commended.

It was not just that, though. It is everything. Ceara's absence, Hydra's disappointment, the silence that bears down on him day after day, week after week. He keeps some company, visiting Speedy on occasion, but largely stays in solitude, unable to bear the looks in their eyes.

The once great warrior is a shell of what he used to be, but why? Never before has shame affected him so. He used to bounce away from a setback like a rabbit over the plains, ready and willing to take on whatever challenge was next. Now he sulks, frets, mourns. . .like a damn woman. It is pitiful.

Llewellyn walks around the mountain, slipping quietly through the conifers. With winter comes an unsettling sort of peace; the icy chill underneath his feet matches the frost around his heart. He is cold, so cold. . .and he longs for the days where he was inimitable fire, destroying all in his path. How long ago those days seem, now.

It would have been better if he'd have died in those vile woods.

Hydra's disappointment in her packmate rest in the back of her mind. More important to her was that he learn from his error and not act on his lonesome again. He might have wished for his own death, but the one thing that she was thankful for was that he lived and breathed still. The odds had not been in his favor during his excursion, and yet he was here among them in one piece—physically. 

Mentally, Hydra noticed his slight distance. For a time she was content to give him his personal space, but the Beta was not the most empathetic or emotionally intelligent woman there ever was. He was healthy, he was recovered—they could prepare for their next onslaught. Before Winter, Hydra had it in her mind to do something. Just what, she was not sure. 

That bastard was alive. She wanted to remind him that he lived and breathedl, from this point on, of her own volition. Killing him immediately seemed the safest thing to do, given the damage he had caused others—but his effect on Hydra had lasted as long as this. Galaxy was dead. Dead for good. She, unlike him, would never come back—

Hydra would bring him to the brink again, and again, and again, she decided. Until she was tired of it. Until he understood the full gravity his silence had cost her. Hydra was not good at displaying how she felt to those she cared for, but her revenge painted out her grieving process and just how much she did feel. 

So, she had to do something. When, where, how... she supposed she would get to that. 

First, though? She sought the golden male, wondering how he fared today.

Hydra is the last wolf he wants to see here. (There are others far more odious, true, but they are either dead or gone, or far beyond his reach.) He cannot turn from her now, though, and so he faces her with a small sigh escaping his nostrils, immeasurable weight in his eyes. Bore da, he greets, for his mother tongue is and will always be easy, even if others did not understand a word.

Llewellyn ceases his pacing and meets her gaze, chin lifted in silent query. A more impertinent wolf would ask something along the lines of, "What do you want?" Born and molded into the royal life, he is not that uncivilized, at least not in that boorish manner. No, he waits for whatever she is to say to him, knowing that it will likely be more of the same.

Unless she knows where Ceara is. Then he will rise to the occasion and be wherever the fiery woman is in a flash. Does she? Does she know?

She chuffed in turn; she does not need to understand the words to perceive their meaning. Her ears twitch atop her crown, and Hydra looks him over briefly. Yes, physically, he does seem in good health. Far better than before. Your friend is alive, and no longer captive. She is healing within another pack that seek to keep her safe. Their leader has expressed that when she is ready to, she may return to the Redhawks. Hydra licked her chops. His efforts that day might have caused eyes to look the other way and to escape, but she did not know the whole of it. The woman's life was not worth her golden subordinates, but she did not suspect he felt the same. 

Honorable man. 

Hydra licked her chops. I did not tell you that day we found you—the man that had taken your friend... he is the same bastard that killed my sister, And if he had hurt Llewelyn and taken something more from her, in any capacity, she did not know what she might do. Another victory for him; another loss for her. At the end of this all, when score was kept, he was the victory; he had taken from Hydra what she could never recover. How could she hope to achieve the same thing to a man who cared for nothing at all but himself, his survival? 

To let him survive, she supposed. To let him feel safe enough to care for something else. To take that. 

Time was a decent teacher.

His shoulders fall and yet at once he is lighter, more at ease than before. Ceara. She is safe, Thank God. Palpable relief flits over his face in ripples, his eyes bittersweet pools of sapphire. Thank you, Llewellyn says gruffly, dipping his head. His heart hammers against his chest; oh, she was saved, she is safe! God. . .

His gaze rises quickly to her face as she speaks again, and gilded brows draw together in a silent, stern fury. Then we will find him, the prince rumbles, and you will have your revenge. Just as he had once promised Ceara vengeance, so now would he extend his services to Hydra.

The dark woman did not need his help--but would, perhaps, welcome it.

He has caused too much harm to remain alive, he continues, shaking his head. Much like Ioan, and yet, not only does the bastard live, but he rules his father's kingdom. He cannot fail to snuff out wickedness again, not like before. This time, the boy will die.

sORRY FOR FAILING! Dec has EATEN ME ALIVE AND NOT SPIT ME OUT YET

 

Hydra thrilled to hear him say the words. He did not even question them; he trusted her implicitly, as she had trusted her own friends—friends who had not trusted her in turn. Terance and she had resolved things, and now he knew he had been wrong, at least... but she appreciated the immediacy of it in Llewelyn, and it showed as she stepped toward him to nose him lightly, a gesture of her appreciation. 

I completely agree, Hydra hummed. True, she was capable; but Hydra knew there was strength in numbers, and that Llewelyn was no weak wolf. He had simply made a mistake. But, she believed he would amend this... enough to extend to benefit of the doubt that he would not seek to harm him without her. She sighed, after a beat. He may believe we will be after him. He is not wrong; in time, we will be. I want him to feel as though he is safe again. Forgotten. But they may send wolves to investigate, Hydra looked thoughtful then, and her gaze shifted to Llewelyn. What would you do? She was interested to hear his perspective and his take. He was a prince of his own lands, after all, and seemed to appreciate her own violent methods... so perhaps he had some ideas of his own.