Redhawk Caldera Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?

Hydra heard her sister, and slowed in her step. Her bright blue eyes surveyed her surroundings until they fell upon a stranger. He was so changed that Hydra could scarcely recognize him by sight, though that he had one eye gave her an idea of who Lyra might have perceived him to be. Was it possible for a wolf to change so much? She would find out. 

Her trajectory shifted, and she headed toward him. There was no aggression or promise of it in her approach, only an intent, driven curiosity. Hydra had always believed him to be alive, but had never been certain of it... and here was her answer, perhaps. Lurking close enough to kill. He could have lived, were he to listen to her only direction: do not return here. Hydra was not one to break a promise made. 

She did not sense fear on him—but had she ever? Not until the very last moment had it emerged in him... and Hydra did not require that in him. She did not seek to be feared. She sought, ultimately, his death. More than that, Hydra did not need. Oh, to be sure, he had paid a price for what he had done to her sister; the bare minimum. But returning was more costly than that. There was much more at risk. Her mother had no future young, yet, and wisely the year prior he had not returned... 

If this was him, he brought this upon himself. He begged it of her. 

Her ears pricked forward, and she licked her chops as step by step, she bridged the gap. Then, her left ear twitched, a mute command to Lyra: let's find out.