Moonspear take charge of your life

Hydra listened to the other, renamed. If she would go when she desired and she replenished what had been used, fine. There was nothing more for her to say to that; Hydra would make certain the other found their true ruin should the words on her tongue be untruth. New, old—it would make no difference. Hydra would remake her again, only to unmake. All such things played out in her eyes as she nodded, though the violence within was quelled and calmed. I believe you, she decided here and now; Aurewen had been honest with her thus far, and Hydra did not suspect her to be a dishonest woman for all her actions. It caused her to soften a measure, and a truly warm look to cross her features—as though her previous thoughts had never been born. Hard to believe, for a moment, it was so simply by the look of her. 

Such was her hatred of those that lied; but the other had never been such, not to her, not yet. Not ever, Hydra hoped; the waif had a way with words, and even despite the crude accent Hydra liked to hear them. So she was glad for the lengthy dialogue, her charismatic way—up until the very end, until she could process it. 

And when she could process it, Hydra blinked down at the woman; weakhearted, weakwilled for those that depended on her most.  Stray sheep she would pick from the pasture before them! Passionate for her own pursuits, it sounded. Lightning, nor flame, nor the earths open-mouthed devouring could keep Hydra from her young; she would climb from the darkest dredges of the world if she breathed to ensure their wellbeing, their safety. What manner of woman was before her? Was it true, one could be so remade? 

Hydra did not think it so. Here before her was the same one-eyed woman as before, only with more marks to litter her person. Aurewen—Andraste, now... no, it mattered not her name. She was still the same, no matter her appelation. Hydra could admire a woman who worked hard for herself; she was a mother herself, after all, and her devotion was not simply to her cubs. But to abandon them; to forget them? 

Only if they failed her, she supposed. A gnarled knotch in her mind, an internal scar she could thumb over and deign it unworthy to remember. Korei Julia came to mind; sister no more. Before that, though? Hydra would sooner defy the Heavens and strike an accord with the devil himself. 

It is you that has spoken, Hydra hummed, lightning strikes when and where it will. We are the masters of our fate, she drawled, head tilting as she looked upon the pale, small woman. I am glad, though, you have found your willpower to create. I must know, though—has the lightning caused you to forget your children? To this, Hydra was uncertain, and so all of her judgments she reserved before her knowing.