Moonspear 起死回生

Indeed there would be; Hydra engaged his senses, romping around their rendezvous and never keeping much of a straight path. The meat flailed, and for a time she ensured she kept out of her sons reach... easy enough to do, for a wolf with her skillset and stature against his own. It was all intentional; Hydra acted the part, here and now, of healthy quarry; she boldly turned toward him and stood there, nostrils flaring as she squared off, standing tall and self-assured as she stared at him baldly. 

A soft noise was the only indication she gave to advise him to tread careful, here, to think. 

Dirge and Hydra, when they had taken the children to watch, had come across such a bull elk; separated from its herd, the initial belief had been perhaps it had fallen behind due to injury. No such luck, though. Whatever the reason it had not been that, and even experienced as they were Hydra and Dirge had sought out to teach their children to be wise in the hunt, not rash and bold and foolish. For when it came to the hunt, there was no room for such behavior. And so, after testing it and assessing it was in good health, they moved on to the next hunt—a successful one, at that. 

But not every hunt would be successful. The mated pair had taken care to reveal that the untameable wilderness was not always so very giving. 

In any case, here and now, Hydra stood boldly before her tenacious son, acting like the surly bull they had found (understandable, given they had been out for his life) as best she could. He had been still, patient; age had granted him wisdom that wolves could sometimes lose interest if there was no chase... and sometimes, to demonstrate their good health, they themselves chased. That in mind, Hydra swept forward with a low grunt—wondering what he might think to do.