Moonspear she was long gone, long, long gone

Hydra countered, far from indifferent; her voice carried no hate nor pity either, only a cold, feral logic: Children grow to become adults. Adults that mistake a kindness for weakness. If we permit one wolf this transgression, when does it end? It never would; and all would know it. All would know it was forgivable and acceptable. It was neither of those things, and that would never be the lesson Hydra instructed. And looking back to him, Hydra saw he was old enough to know better; whoever had raised him had taught him this was right. 

But tearing him to pieces? That was not on her list of things to do. 

Mercy. 

She knew mercy. 

Elysium, she repeated, voice softer (yet no less cool) as she looked at the wounded wolf. She had never heard of it; the word sounded fanatical. Lees, he had said, likely a derivative name of it of some sort. Let him hear the word and feel peace, despite his error. Young, stupid—some blind follower to some one that had forced his hand. Who had it been? Caiaphas? Merrick? 

Starvation? 

Whatever its name, she would remove its power over him once and for all. 

I dunno what to do. I need help. Oh, yes—young. He did not look it, but there were indicators he was not yet full grown... just as there were indicators he might never be. He sounded it. Wrong place, wrong time—Hydra frowned as the blood continued to spread outward. He would not survive this; he would not survive her. Poor boy. 

She would help him.

Hydra's ears pricked. She had let others live and come to regret it, and she was so tired of regret; was there a way to live without it? To rid the taste of it from her mouth? The weight of it from her shoulders? Heavy was the head with a crown, but one less life—would it not lighten the burden? He was starving, and now he was lanced to the Spear and bleeding; she tired of wasting resources on those not worth it! Those that had been permitted here only to leave. Or to die. 

He looked so tired. Rest, now, thought Hydra as she lunged for him, jaws parting to catch hold of his throat and to take the life from him. It would be quick; if she caught hold of him, it would be over before it began. 

Hydra's savage mercy.