Moonspear fortune definitely favored us, but no one celebrated

Hydra paused to linger at one of her mothers markers. The scent was distinctly different, yet in a familiar way. It meant that come Springtime, there would be more Ostrega's. She hoped one of them would be competent enough to become her true shadow. Jarilo had a personality she enjoyed, but her high expectations were a tall order—even the ones to come might not be able to fulfill her dream. Hydra continued forward and noted Dune who passed her by. She nipped him fondly in passing; she did appreciate his staying, and as he moseyed past her, Hydra's eyes lingered for a minute too long on his fine hindquarters. They had really filled out since his arrival. 

To do list: hang with Dune, soon. 

She continued on the way to her mother, who she noted in the distance standing there. Waiting for her, surely and—as she now scented the air—her father. Her tail waved. Her sour mood was lifted instantaneously as she closed the distance. Terance, Rannoch, Liffey, Wraen—they were just lame disappointments. Why should she care for wolves who could be her friend one minute and try and sully her name the next? Fairweather friends were not what she sought. Hydra looked forward to the cosmic karma that was coming for them. Hydra herself would push that envelope to ensure they received it. Lord knew she was impatient to see results, precisely when she wanted them. She could not believe she had ever held Terance in such high esteem. If he really had talked to Rannoch, she knew his defense would be pathetic. How? 

Because he left. He was still willing to go with a man of that fickle nature. 

Next wolf she saw being left for dead, she would just leave it. Hydra had learned her lesson. Let corpse-to-be be a corpse; their existence otherwise would be useless, far more trouble than it was worth, and they'd take what you gave them and run away with it. Run away, because at the end of the day they're cowards. 

God, she hated cowards. Scum of the earth. But that was Liffey and Rannoch defined—shit, even Terance and Wraen. Well, obviously. What was it they said... your friends are a reflection of who you are? Lame and pathetic, lame and pathetic, lame and pathetic, and lastly, lame and pathetic—

An exhale of relief came from this cathartic thought process. She was feeling better as she sidled alongside her mother with a waving plume.