Firefly Glen the grand optimist

He followed her; whether he was instigated by his own passions or the estrus (not her own) on the wind, she was not certain. Hydra did not want to find out; if he would return, let him do so when none of this was a factor. When her head was clear and not ringing; when her wrath was not so potent a thing. As he spoke, she felt suddenly crowded; pit viper indeed, but helpless before the boot of his features as he trod upon her heart. 

She did not know what sort of fortune to call it when her husband came. There was relief first; there was no smell of other women that she could discern, and her shaken faith found stability again. Hydra's gaze shifted to Rian, but her tongue was lead and heavy in her mouth; disobedient, she did not answer what he asked of her as he had not done the same for her. Hydra drifted from them both, and then spun on her heel to watch; what would Rian do? Would he challenge her mate? Would Dirge entertain it? 

Her mind reeled as she thought to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, and yet she quite liked the idea of him defending her as she ever would defend him. He rarely had the chance to, and there was more relief to think that he was more than willing to do so. 

And then her blue eyes shifted to Rian; would he stay? Would he go? Would he understand that she had never wanted that in the first place, so long ago? She wondered why now he would stay; what had changed? Had anything? Her gaze fell back to Dirge and she took a step nearer to him as she again dashed these questions from her mind. 

Did it matter? There was Dirge; he was here, he had always been here. Rian had been a dream, a desire. Dirge had been all else, and reality; he had not left her! She would not leave him, and her heart thud against her chest as she wondered what this might come to. If Rian would understand, or if Rian would fight instead—if Dirge would then truly fight for her.