Moonspear back to the forward command center

Hydra listened with interest, though soon enough it became clear the conversation pained Kukutux. She listened even still, wondering if speaking on it helped the grieving process or hindered it. It seemed wrong to interrupt her in the midst of her sharing, and so Hydra was quiet throughout. When Kukutux had finished, the note of it all somber, Hydra found herself staring at the soft features of the other even as the newcomer looked away. 

Licking her chops, Hydra shared: my mother and father were both warriors. We have always been given a choice in the things that we do. And what we do is always for one another. But when our parents died, she drawled, it felt, for a while, like the light of the moon and the air that makes it possible to breathe went with them. When I saw them there, I thought that it did, she continued, matter-of-factly as she, now, looked away. But then I looked around me. My brothers, my sisters. My subordinates. The way their flanks rose and fell. The way the moonlight hit them hours later. They were still breathing, and the moon still had come to rise. I knew I must do as my parents had done, and as I had always done, for them while they, too, still breathed, Hydra looked to Kukutux then once more as she finished with: Anything. Everything. 

That was what her family was to her. And so she felt, for a moment, she understood to a small degree of what Kukutux had likely endured by losing what she had. How was Kukutux not unmade, by the loss of it all? There was some sort of strength within Kukutux not visible to the eye, but that Hydra knew must exist within her. You are a new subordinate to me, but no less important for it. You are part of the whole, and Moonspear, we are a family. Patience is difficult to exercise in this season, but if there is a husband to be had for you here, I hope you can be so with my brothers, softer now, as she sought understanding.