Moonspear morning sickness, xyz

The voice was a familiar one, though it was not one she had thought to hear here ever again. Her imagination was not so clever as to conjure his voice to such accuracy, and so Hydra was given pause as she contemplated her next course of action. Gannet had left, and when he had returned she was the last to know—she had thought them better friends than that. Who he ran with she did not know, and as she stood there, debating, she wondered if she wanted to know at all. 

Yes, she did. Of course she did. Knowledge was power, after all. 

It did not take her too long to arrive, though she had not been in any particular rush. With expert ease did Hydra descend the mountains lower ridges to meet him, until at last she stood in front of him with an assessing eye. He looked well, frustratingly enough. She had almost hoped to see him here with jutting ribs and nutrient deficient, helpless on his own... but he had found a pack out there, she could smell a number of wolves upon him, and one in particular caused her nausea to return (though she could not yet place it). 

Gannet, she greeted, I did not think I would ever see you again. Her features did not display whether she was pleased by being wrong, or otherwise—she herself was not so certain, herself, how she felt.