Moonspear so if you meet me, have some courtesy

Hydra listened, intrigued and truly interested. An ear flicked as Praimfaya explained, and Hydra felt she understood. Moonspear, then, were her kru. She went on to translate to her what Moonspear might be called, and Hydra tilted her head wondering if words could be combined. Now and then her mother had spoken her natal language in its idioms, making accent an easy enough thing for her tongue to work with. Could it be both? Natjavkru? She pondered aloud, wondering more about the language. Such things always interested Hydra, who appreciated different languages and dialects. 

If she knew that Praimfaya had thought she was of nonkru, Hydra would have sought to change her mind on that; she wanted, truly, for she and hers to feel welcome here. To think this a home. 

As the other translated, Hydra quite liked the sound of Wanheda. It would be nice to command death, but Hydra knew better by now than to know it was she who did so. She and death, though, had a symbiotic relationship. Death benefited from Hydra's life in that it saw so much more of it while she breathed. Her ears pricked as she nodded along, listening. It sounds like a strong language, Hydra drawled, and a good culture. You were Heda among Roangeda? How did this come to pass? she drawled. It was not that she did not believe in Praimfaya; rather, Hydra had never known one so young to be placed at such a position in life. As a wolf, Hydra could not imagine bowing her head to any so young—but she never had needed to. Hydra had been instructed to lead since girlhood, and it made her own authority unquestionable as she aged.

Praimfaya would need to be taught, and Hydra would be the one to teach her in small, little lessons. The girl seemed to know the basics; Hydra paused again to mark the border where they stood, looking out beyond them to ensure no strangers were near that needed addressing. When she determined there was not, she continued forward.