Firefly Glen the truth and my lies are now falling like the rain

Skies? Hydra withheld a snort. Her mother would belong to the earth; the only two wolves who would ever reach the skies, in her own mind, were her own family. The worthy members of it, anyway. Her whining was met with a muted snarl, not at all interested in the girls points but for the one that she would look elsewhere. Good; there, Hydra hoped she founded what she needed. Or else some sort of plant to prevent more of this emerging from her wombspace again—the voice was one that grated, but Hydra remained cordial [enough] to continue to escort her through the place. At the very least the quartet kept others away that would do worse to the she-wolf.

Spica moved none too slowly, and once she passed that invisible boundary Hydra knew all too well she would pause to watch the girl depart for a while longer 'til she determined to show her sons more of the Glen, and advise them that Spica was not the norm; Hydra recognized this place as a neutral territory [except by ways of hunting], but was intolerant toward the rude. Which now her sons knew well to mind their manners before all others. Next time, she hoped Spica would be better.