Moonspear I will keep you safe

Hydra knew that he did, and for that she was grateful. Each of her children were wonderful, and she felt glad for each of her children who were wise beyond their years. Moonspear had done wonderfully in their rearing, and she knew she and her husband had strong genetics that shaped them, too. The world was falling apart around them, but here they were safe and cared for. Hydra wanted to expose them to the world and its cruel realities, though this was well outside of the norm. They were not yet old enough to range so far in any case, and so she was not worried about stunting their exposure. Hydra would not do that, but would be with them when it came time for this. 

Her tongue worked behind an ear, teeth then preening a knot between skull and where his lobe met it then. He asked if they could practice, and Hydra hummed in rejoinder: yes. His manners made her all the more willing, and he surely knew this. His inquiry was innocent, but it brought about another lesson: yes, Osiris; it is never good to lie, and I will not lie to you. A wolf who can lie, easily or otherwise, is a wolf who cannot ever be trusted entirely. If you can tell one, you can tell a dozen—who is to know what is truth and what is not, then? She asked, quite serious as she looked to him. It would be a lesson she taught all of her cubs; liars was a trait she detested most of all in a wolf, it would seem, right alongside cowardice. Cowards, though, could be more trustworthy than liars. 

His next question was answered when she extended her foreleg; she had taken care to rub herself in the scent of the animal they would be after for the benefit of her children, but also to test them. What do you smell? Hydra asked of him, and then thought to add, other than your family, and other wolf, knowing he would likely go into great detail if she had not.