Bramblepoint i always dream of electric sheep

Hydra's own strides were long and purposeful as she continued on her way. One ear flicked backward to pay recognition to her follower, and then swiveled forward. The wolf was a massive one, she could hear it in every heavy plod—and with mild amusement she felt that had she not seen him, he could be mistaken for a bear. But his walk was more dignified than that, she imagined—and then she had to pause to see for herself. 

She payed him direct attention again, giving him the good old fashioned once-over from a woman that knew her great worth. Hydra knew she was strong, though her belief did not err toward arrogance. That was not to say she was humble; the princess of Moonspear knew very little of humility, if anything at all. For her age, she'd won much, beaten many, and killed more than perhaps she ought to of, living in such a peaceful valley. She was strong, and it showed in the way she held herself, though she was not so foolish as to pretend she was the strongest of them all. Hydra had much to learn, and worked on this every day. The Ostrega had enough confidence to believe it was not a matter of if, but when. 

But as he moved, she thought of him. He was entirely different than the man that typically consumed her mind. He was pale, like her father, and unkept and feral. There was certain to his roguish look that appealing to the teen; he was a sort of wild she had not seen before, though she had certainly displayed it herself. There were burrs still stuck to him, but that did little to take away from his brilliance. If anything, it added more to it somehow. 

Hydra took some measured steps in his direction, hoping to investigate him further now that her interest had been captured.