Moonspear no scrubs

Lyra had been largely scarce — both physically and emotionally — since her encounter with Rannoch weeks ago. She still felt drained from the entire ordeal and so had been avoiding the two as much as possible. In fact, she had been avoiding most of the pack bar her sisters. She had neglected her growing siblings, slipped in the ranks, and felt all the more terrible for it. As sunny as the girl could be, when she crashed, she crashed hard.

She still harboured resentment for the cerulean-eyed boy, however, but could not see that she was the one who was at fault here. That her bitterness turned misery was entirely self-inflicted. Hydra's mysterious new friend had managed to pique her curiousity, though, at least just enough to coax some sort of positive emotion from the girl.

She followed her dominant sister's scent until it merged with Alya's, and trailed them both until she came upon the borders. They both stood solemnly, expressions near unreadable to any other wolf. Lyra's ears flew forward in concern as she smelt the blood upon Hydra's fur (though it wasn't unusual for the other girl to be dressed in either her own or someone else's blood). She caught the tail end of her words and felt a burst of love for both of them, yet did not show it. Instead, she silently strode towards the two before delicately sniffing at Hydra's shoulder, licking the wounds there.