Moonspear they want the old kanye

@Alya and @Lyra

 

She moved toward the warm springs to bathe, wanting to at last wash herself free of the bullshit that had transpired. Her heart ached, but she willed a ceasefire for at least an hour. No cigar—she still felt her emotional hurts as she drifted into the warm waters.

Hydra was temperamental at present, relatively snappish to the nearness of others. Her grief was hers to bear for the second; she did not want to put her sourness on anyone.

She had loved Terance, really, she had. And she had genuinely cared about Rannoch. But she had not been wrong about Liffey, as it turned out. The blow delivered by the stupid harlot had been one Hydra did not at all expect, though. Hydra had been, truth be told, thrilled to see Liffey go. Decent though Rannoch was, his empty-sack-of-potatoes wife was nothing but dead weight and had nearly been cougar meat. Sustenance for a Greater Enemy. It took a real special sort of idiot to do that. So frankly, seeing her exit was a relief. 

There was more to it all that had transpired but, truth be told, here and now, Hydra did not want to think about it. So she held her breath and dipped her head beneath the water, enjoying the true silence being beneath the water brought, before she lifted her head. 

She sensed the nearness of @Alya then, who as of late who had been exploring when the storms had not struck. No doubt her emotional grief had come upon her radar. @Lyra too—who surely had debriefed Alya on Hydra's proverbial guillotine songs.