Moonspear Words mean nothing when your lips are so blue

His question was a valid one, and one perhaps she ought to have expected. Looking to him, and wondering how to articulate it best, Hydra was quiet for a moment before she began. Your father cared very much for you. He had wanted stability, for you and your sister both. When I looked to you then, Dragomir, I thought of how the mountains might make your muscles, and you, stronger. Food had not been so terribly scarce then here, either, but becoming that way... your father had offered his help in searching for prey, and told me he was a soldier. You were not yet a hunter, or a fighter—you were a child. One who could pursue either, someday, and Hydra had liked both of those things. She saw more than potential; she saw a future for him here. For them all. The real truth of it was the root of the thought had come from her own maternal instinct, but not even Hydra herself had been aware of that prompting her to suggest such a thing in the first place. 

Hydra withheld a sigh as she thought on how some things were not always so black and white. Where Dragomir was weaker, and he and Isilme still cubs, the father would have helped make up for it—but Moonspear would ever do their part to raise the children of the mountain. Hydra had not thought then that food might disappear entirely... but fortunately, Moonspear still found a way to keep the pack and children both fed. When it came to an adult that ought to be self-sufficient, Hydra approached things far differently.

And yet... I choose, for the most part, to have faith in others and their words. I trust, though, what they show me, she drawled, her mind drifting to the day she had elected to have faith in Speedy, only to come to find that she had in fact been lying. It was only the most recent on her list, but her hatred for the woman had yet to fizzle. Many will disappoint you in this life, Dragomir; the only power we have over that is that we get to choose who does it, came her simple truth, and some among that number are worth fifty, and then some, of the wolves that are better off dead or else forgotten in any case. Dragomir was young yet, and already the boy was worth a hundred wolves when compared to his wayward mother. 

Glancing to him, Hydra drawled, to give him some peace of mind if she could, I am glad to have had faith in your father. I am glad that you are here, and that you remain with us. My faith is with you, now. Of your own volition, you keep your fathers word, she hummed with a sway of her tail. Hydra did not know his father well enough to speak for him, and she never would. But she could not help but think that if there were somewhere else to go when all died, and if he could see his son now... he would be proud. He must be, if that were so.