Moonspear girl of the year

Hydra was irate and unreceptive in nearly every sense of the word. She felt the need to harass and accost, and even Lyra kept her distance. There was little she could do to stay her teeth from doing what they would; the consequence was an afterthought, and one she could not fully process. But it was not what it would be–there was some sense still here, for now, though the thread of it was thin and fraying. She heard the approach of another, and where normally she would recognize the sound of their step and know it to be her mother, she whipped around so that her hindquarters were well out of reach and bore her fangs, tail flagged over her spine and ears pressed forward in forewarning. A brief moment passed, and Hydra recognized the face of her mother, and a brief battle seemed to take place within as she searched her mother’s features. Hydra’s tail shifted to half-mast, and her ears flicked with uncertainty as she licked her chops. 

Her gaze did not leave her mother’s features. The battle had not stopped within, but for now she held the reins. Never before had she desired to challenge the woman before, and even still her respect for the woman kept her at bay, but what she fought against had little to do with that and would not stop her from doing all that instinct demanded she must do. 

But her mother seemed to understand some of this. Hydra exhaled slowly in one even breath, and asked: what is this? What was happening to her? Never before had she felt so out of sorts, never before had she willfully bore her fangs with intent of consequence against family–and as she looked to her mother now, she fret over whether or not this would remain so, should her mother seek to dissuade what even she could not win against: her nature.