Moonspear do you speak?

Hydra heard the words spoken, and after a few strides more the matriarch slowed. She could sense the distress, and begrudgingly knew what she ought to do. Hydra had once wondered why it was always her, a wolf not at all made to stand mental turmoil, who seemed to come across those within turmoil when she was not at all equipped to assist there. No, not simply once—she still did, truth be told. But for her pack and family alone, she would always make the effort to be what it was they needed. Hydra could not stand to see those she cared for hurting, and it was all too evident that Desdemona was. 

So she slowed, her gaits shifting up until she was in a walk. Her blue eyes were searching upon her subordinate and she withheld a sigh. Hydra's tail lashed behind her as she wondered how best to be there. As ever, Hydra decided she could listen. But to listen, Desdemona would need to speak. To be open to share. What has got you feeling no longer in control? Hydra asked then, voice not absent of her own concern for the spidery she-wolf.