The Heartwood i'm faithless now though we win

Hydra snorted loudly to his first response, the testament to her faith in those words. Would he have ran with such fearful passion, if not for fear of some repercussion to finally accepting that life did not always go his way? As she was walking away, her ears cupped backward to catch his words. He knew enough about her to cause her to look over her shoulder and acknowledge what it was she thought of that: 

When you can understand it is not your leaving that I cannot forgive, perhaps then, we can talk, she began, words slow and ears pressed over her brow. If Lyra made him suffer so, she had already expressed once she did not fault him for his going. But she would not waste her breath upon a man who never listened. Never cared. I see you suffering now. It has found where you fled to. And it had ravaged him; in this light, she could not tell for certain, but she imagined she saw the outline of a rib... his fur, it had lost its sheen from lack of nutrients, and he stood before her bedraggled. Exhausted. Left behind.

For a moment, Hydra could not help but think as her father did—the stars, the moon, they must favor her for such a twist. And to see it, hear it! Some karmic justice had struck him, far harder than she ever could. She was appeased, and her ears pricked. 

Her pride flared as she acknowledged, perhaps foolishly, what grated her nerves the most: Self-conscious? Oh, no... That is not the right word... what is, though... ah! I know: and her eyes were sharp as she reminded him: Betrayed. Hydra bristled. Is Moonspear considered a friend, or a foe, to your pack? she tested then, and continued without waiting for an answer: And if I were to come and visit you upon your founding, and it was not you who answered my call first, how would I be received? Hydra knew precisely how, but at the very least, the hurt she felt had faded and was not so raw as to cause her tone to quiver or shake. Liffey had made her an enemy with bedroom eyes and whispered words of unfounded fear. Rannoch had made that perfectly clear to her. But they were cowards, the lot of them—they ran from fear.  

She, however, faced it; tore it asunder until it was an unrecognizable, dead thing when she could. Hydra did not mince words, did not lie, and when wounded she reacted not with flight but with fight. The bitch was inexhaustible, tireless, and her body language expressed just that. It was her pity for his own sagging body that caused her to turn to depart his company again—this horse was dead, and she would beat it no longer. With an exhale, Hydra let go... and she dropped it, as he wished. There were but five words that would stop her in her tracks, but she doubted Terance knew how to pronounce 'I'm sorry, I was wrong'. 

It could not have been done without having heard his life going full circle, however. Hydra had him to thank for, at the very least, letting go of her own anger. Did she forgive? Did she forget? No. Never.