Moonspear away

Hydra was asked, politely so; she was thankful for it. Hydra could scarcely curb her instinct to end the heat of any she-wolf in her dominion regardless; to be asked made things, as she had said, much easier. Better. Do you understand how this is done? She inquired, tail twitching behind her. All that I will do for it is not personal; stress causes it to end prematurely. I will harry you with teeth and posturing until your body eliminates the cause of all of this—but it is nothing against you, she ensured, so that Desdemona could know for certain that her actions meant nothing as to how Hydra felt toward her. 

If anything, Hydra wished Desdemona had been here a little while longer and found herself a mate; perhaps next year, more new blood could be among them in the form of children born of those that may be friend and subordinate both. It was not to be this year, but there was time yet for all that was to come. Hydra liked to think that the future of Desdemona was bright, though her personal inclination toward her was to thank for that.