Bramblepoint königinklinge

Hydra was pleased to hear it, though swallowed a sigh to remember what was to arrive in the coming days. Moonspear, too, would—as with the rest of the Wilds—fall into the days of childbearing. The only peace of mind that came with it was that Hydra would be able to truly exercise her place as head bitch; this time, she would stress the she-wolves in her ranks out of heat unless they had a mate within the ranks to help them rear the cubs to come, and they had spoken with her of it. At present, there was only one other who would be given the privilege once asked. 

Antares, Atlas, Vega, Osiris, would have more siblings than they could count for it; Dragomir, several more cousins if he had any wish to claim kinship with them, himself. She thought only respectfully of the mercenary father he had once had, given what little she knew of him. Hydra had elected to believe he was a man of his word. 

Mahler's observation was not missed; Hydra offered him a savage grin as she revealed, we have fought hard to do so. On more than one occassion had she had to fight for their meals, given the climate; each and every one, they had won with her direction, united in their effort to survive, thrive, as best they could in these terrible times. The worst of them seemed over; the scent of prey was returning, and not quite so scarce as it had been. Difficult to find even still, but the worst seemed to be over; time would tell. 

Children, he had said; Hydra was at once reminded of those that would seek to harm them. I must warn you, Mahler; there are three wolves in which I know of that have come to harm children in recent months...  There is Merrick, and Astara, and Caiaphas—the last of which I have also heard referred to as Blackhead, or Seawitch. Merrick has brought to an end who I believe was once the husband of the woman Aurewen, she informed readily; Hydra had no idea that Dragomir and Isilme were born illegitimately, and would never think it even were Mahler to say to her, he was no husband. Of course he was not; lightning had struck, effectively putting to an end each and every one of Aurewens commitments except the ones she made to herself,

Andraste. 

Her first act of shedding from one skin into the next was the General himself; the mercenary had the good fortune to not be made a cuckold of in his final days, at least. Aurewen had not done it—Andraste had! As to that, Hydra's contempt was only for the woman (terribly); Mahler had baptised her sufficiently, though in a most unholy way. The womans Heavens, blessedly, closed their eyes to this. 

She detested the twice-named woman. Her saving grace was that in the end, she had been brave enough to help Hydra seek those that had come to harm young Dragomir. If there was anything else good to be found in her, Hydra awaited the day that she would see it; though she would never hold her breath for it. 

Merrick also was the one whom hurt Dragomir, as Aurewen... Andraste, now!, told it. The last I knew, they had been traveling together; though they escaped my Wilderness before I could kill them, she drawled, irate for it. That breeding season and the days of child-rearing would likely come before she could act on her wrath...! I will not have them harm my children; I will kill them, should I ever meet them. But they, those three, do not know that I wish this... and so I ask for your discretion, so that I might keep the element of surprise on my side. And should you meet them first, I would not mind your teeth at their throats, she drawled darkly. However it was done she did not care, so long as it was done. Make them bleed. Make them suffer, as they so enjoy making others do.

Hydra would do what it took to keep her children safe; with that, by proxy, she protected the rest of the young within the Wilds. 

What she would not do to those three monsters! And what she would do? It was unspeakable; unthinkable. All violence paled in comparison to the massacre her mind made for them; they deserved nothing less. Not my children. Never my children. A mothers nightmare was her children coming to harm; a mothers dream was doling out the justice deserved for any who dared contemplate cruelty toward her brood. 

Hydra's dreams were different than most, granted. But her own sweet dreams were made of this.