Moonspear Leave me your wake to remember you by

It was Dragomir. Her ears, which had been leaning forward in the typical prelude to her aggression, fanned backward as she registered who it was that had come to her. Typically, Hydra was perceptive enough to observe such things, given her uncanny ability to pay attention to detail—but here and now, she was able to depict very little. Given the nature of their relationship, Hydra had never looked to Dragomir as anything but as her family—she was keen enough to snap at her sons to keep their distance, but showed more restraint then and there. 

Likely because of the unwitting little devil in the detail of their own relationship. Though she considered him blood, he was not. 

His voice was tight, but Hydra had been busy thinking of things she ought not to be thinking. Truly a bitch in heat, the matriarch had but one desire this time of year. She blinked out of her daze, having not heard him whatsoever, and her own gaze held fast to him then as she realized he lingered still. Had he asked something?  Dragomir, she drawled, and blinked again. You asked something—I am sorry, I am... not myself. It is my season, she explained, hoping he might understand that conversations of import, then and there, might not get very far. 

But they could try. The affection Hydra felt for Dragomir was purely maternal in its nature, but then and there the lines were tenuously blurred. It was that affection, though, that caused Hydra to want to help him, sensing his concern. So she looked to him, still listening—but this time paying more attention as her expression seemed to request he ask again.