Moonspear fortune definitely favored us, but no one celebrated

Hydra was done with it all—with fake friendships and with loyalty to any other than her blood and pack. Those not of her blood who joined after the incident would be faced with a more aloof Hydra, a Hydra more like her mother, perhaps. The invisible wounds left behind by Terance she hoped would not scar; she did not desire to think on him any longer than she needed to, now. He used Lyra as an excuse to leave, his love for her, it hurts too much she doesn't love me too, and took the cowards way out if it all. Well, now he would certainly never have her love. In fact, now he would have its polar opposite.

She seethed as she moved through the wood. Her disposition was the very same of her mother, who she came upon. There was an ire not for her present in her aura, one she wanted to unleash. Terance and Wraen had been a true surprise for her, too. She had thought that she and Terance would grow gray and old together (in that amicable way); he had been a part of her future thoughts. To omit him from them was something she was working on. Soon enough, he would be entirely past tense.

The scent of her mother was strong here. Hydra paused, wondering if she was coming this way or if she had already passed through, nose pressing to the base of a shrub to find her answer with one ear cocked backward to listen for her approach.