Moonspear ᵐᵗᵐᵖʰ antúlien

Her children were not alone. 

Fortune did not favor the pale woman; where she was struck, Hydra did not know, but she had been brought here to recover. Hydra scowled at this; they were not a place for rehabilitation, and yet, twice over they acted as such. Were it Winter, Hydra would be far less welcoming... but as it were, Hydra had her own selfish designs for the woman so out of favor with fortune. 

Was that not fortunate? Perhaps the tides of her life were shifting. 

@Lyra tended to the half-blind woman when she was able. Hydra demanded much of her time, but would not permit her childrens instructor to die without a single lesson. Hydra herself would come to inspect, and have her children inspect, too. Hydra was no medic, but knew enough to see that the woman was not dead. She wondered if it might be a mercy just to kill her, but what would that teach her, or her children? How long could a wolf last in this condition? 

She thought of her parents. She saw her own mother. Still breathing. Fighting. Hydra watched as she lost that final battle, and looked for the same stillness each evening in the marked woman. 

Hydra's gaze had not diverted from her when she kept watch, and so the change in sound, in sight, was not missed. 

It seemed her mountain was far more devastating than an errant bolt of lightning. 

She rose to all fours, picking up a hare she had flushed out of the brush before her cubs. Hydra deposited it nearby, but did not draw too near, yet. Her breathing has changed, Hydra hummed, for her brood to hear, perhaps she is waking. As for that, Hydra did not know for certain—but her keen ears were savvy to these nuances. 

Perhaps she was dying.