Neverwinter Forest holy water running dry

He had found his sister on the coast. And she was in need of his care. Hydra wondered at this, and knew his vagueness was intentional; she did not care for the devil in the details. She had done away with all of hers and was more than confident he could, as well, if he wanted to. Hydra simply thought to ask, is the care she requires something that only a journey could remedy? Succinct and deliberate. 

Lyra was a medicine woman, after all. 

But they both knew that Moonspear would not house a wolf that could not give their loyalty, not again—Hydra had known, and had advised her father, of his temporary stay, and Dirge had pulled his weight and then some. But, unless he became their ambassador and scout, he could not come and go as he pleased—and she would not suggest a life to him that would make him feel collared and leashed, as she did not think it something he would appreciate. He was a wild man, and only he could and would know when those days were finished and he could call someplace home. 

She knew he defined it differently. If her own circumstances were different, perhaps she would, too. But the mountain had her mother, her father, her brothers, her sisters. It had food, water, and shelter. It had always been Moonspear, for all of her life, and even should one day she leave it, it would likely still be that for her; it was where she was born and raised. Where so many of her firsts were. And there were still so many more to be had, perhaps even there—a suitor, who would speak to her father and express their intent, and then prove to her their desire... 

Hydra had wondered if perhaps this might be the man to do so, though as the rain dribbled off his sharp jawline she felt she may have been wrong. He was a man with more than the lust to wander, after all; he had a smooth tongue, and an appetite she knew existed that she had not sated—how many women might have imagined the very same thing she had, except that they might have shared themselves with him until the Summer came, and he craved a new adventure (and with it, a new bed)? 

She was no fool, even despite her inexperience. He knew her, but she knew him, too; she, a pit-viper, he, a snake charmer. And she was not immune to that charm! But she was wise to it, and he would receive a fatal dose of venom if he pressed too much—Hydra would not fall into his basket, as she imagined others may have, as his words wrapped around her as a pungi's song would the cobra.