Moonspear little monster

Hydra listened to her daughter speak, ear twitching. Perhaps it might, she encouraged, wanting her daughter to do and find out for herself what was possible and impossible. Vega would learn better this way. To guide her further, though, Hydra explained; if he is low to the earth and leaning in one direction, you might be able to utilize his own weight against him when adding your own. If he is tired enough, you might even be able to push him downward, Hydra drawled, but if he is not tired, he may only stumble. From there, she would like to see Vega work out what next to do; Hydra was ever eager to find out what instincts her daughter carried. Her grandmother was one of Moonspear's greatest warriors, and her mother was its present best. She hoped Vega would fight alongside her as she had fought alongside her own mother. 

Nipping at her daughters cheek, Hydra drawled, bigger does not always mean better. My father, your grandfather, Charon, taught me that, she recalled, though he had not used those words in his instruction. He had showed her this, not told her in as many words—and guided her in how to better beasts of his own massive stature. Tire your brothers out, then strike; then tire them out again, then strike. As the only girl among them, Vega might have her work cut out for her if the boys ever elected to team up in their games against her—though they always seemed to partner up... or else simply go all out in a battle royale to see who would be the victor. These days it was anyones guess, but she could see them utilizing the things that she had said.