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

Hydra followed him until she was satisfied, and wheeled around; she paced the forests edge where he collapsed until his sputtering words caused her to emerge from them, the shade the woods cast upon her darkening her glowering features further. Breathe, she commanded, and speak clearly. Hydra could piece together his words well enough, and her gaze assessed him for injury. He simply seemed exhausted, and Hydra's gaze prepared to take all of him in but firstly, it landed upon the collar around his neck. 

That was different. She had not seen something like this before, and she did not know what to make of it. No, wait—there was something familiar about it... yes, she had seen such a thing before. She had not trusted its strangeness then, and trusted it as much now as she did then. Hydra had never liked different. Is what is upon your throat bringing your world to an end? She inquired; it had not been her to do so (yet... though, there was still time). It had not done so to Dune but perhaps his throat was trapped in an entirely different way. It hardly looked like a gift, as she recalled the pale man describing it. 

No... it did seem like some sort of end.