Moonspear And into the fire we go

He said it didn't matter. That answered that—Liffey. Hydra frowned at Gannet's reaction, not understanding it herself; for her own part, she'd been as straightforward as ever. If Liffey didn't think now was a good time to talk to her father, she was not going to force her to—hell, maybe she'd been satisfied by it all. No, she knew she hadn't been—not with the way she left and suggested she and her father speak another time. Liffey leaving without a goodbye was her choice in reaction, not Hydra's, though she did not know that Gannet blamed her at all for that.

As Gannet dipped his head lower to Charon in respect, Hydra observed him go, her frown deepening. She looked to the food he had let go, and back to him, and felt her heart sink. It had been a gift. Hydra did not take pity on him for his injury, so she would not have minded him going, but it had been she who had crashed the party. In the spirit of taking responsibility, Hydra nodded to her father. She hoped Gannet would at least cache the things she had brought him, and would come back to check later she supposed, not wanting to risk predators going for them.

See you. She echoed her father, and followed after him.