Moonspear a hero to the masses, to those born without chances

Hydra, too, surveyed her children romping and rolling. Where others might starve and be weaker for the events that nature sought to bring to the table, Moonspear had been prepared in several ways. Her parents had granted Hydra plenty of wisdom, and she employed it in all that she did for her family. Young as she was, she had become its matriarch and she would not lead them astray. Her cubs were healthy and fit; she would see to it that they remained so. They all would. 

The Queen heard him approach, and to his inquiry she was quiet as she considered—was she? 

Yes, always. Hydra was a physical wolf by nature; her affections were often rough, and her preferred method of bonding was through such exercises that her brother had inquired about. Her posture changed immediately to one more guarded, but she did not move away; her muzzle draped over her throat and her ears flattened atop her crown, squaring herself while still beside him.

But then, she lifted a leg, holding it close to her person. 

Lift a leg, she demanded, tail swaying behind her. It is good to know how to fight against a wolf who knows how to use it to their advantage; and should you ever become injured yourself where you cannot use the whole of your weight for a time, you should know how to fight on.

Her weight centered as best as it could be, Hydra looked to him with a wolfish grin, inviting him to begin with a playfully aloof disposition. 

She would never underestimate him; she simply wanted to test him, and to continue to help him grow. Each spar she learned more from him too; it was not as though she knew it all, though she seemed to. Part of what made Hydra so brilliant a fighter was her ability to adapt and overcome. It was true her mastery granted her the ability to predetermine and expect most everything—her brother had learned that through his own practice, now. 

Hydra would teach him to make every disadvantage an advantage.