Moonspear I don't play if I can't win.

It was strange, the in-between between Summits, but Hydra marked Moonspear well enough that any for miles would know to beware. And it so happened that she recently—very recently, in fact—marked the borders in which the stanger so haplessly slid into. Had she not seen his fall, Hydra would have accosted him to the point of death then and there, but she had fortunately enough for him. 

He would not be staying long; he would get up, and he would go (if she had it her way). Hydra spun on her heel with a warning snarl, tail thrust over her hindquarters and ears tipping forward; the sound from her throat rose in pitch, preceding the violence that would come if he did not find his way beyond her borders; until he was, he would not be safe from her wrath. Her patience was thinning, and he had been warned—she prepared to pick up her own pace, should he not react in a timely enough manner for her.