Moonspear When darkness speaks, it changes everything.

Hydra heard the exhale, and her eyes beheld him in a different light. Hydra had always had an appreciation for the wolves of Roangeda, and an affinity toward them for their ways... but the affection born for them, and for Dacio, that they were vested within Moonspear and its young, her children... well, the matriarch was reminded again that they, Moonspear, were a family. And the harshness of her gaze—for all that had recently transpired—softened as she looked to him. 

The shade would pay for harming him, too. It was something she had known upon seeing him—he was Moonspear after all—but the weight of that settled on her shoulders. Hydra would be happy to defend him. 

Though it looked like it smarted, as he showed it to her Hydra could see that there was no scent or visible sign of infection. That had been one thing Lyra had enforced that Hydra learn. A small cut cannot kill, but the infection from it can. Her eyes traced it and she did not so much as grimace as she reviewed the savaged limb. That fury returned, as did the hard look in her eye. She took a step back to give him some space and said nothing to that effect—she would get to it. Firstly, though, him: take care to see her again so she can inspect it and ensure it does not get infected. Lyra has told me, so I will tell you, it is not simply the size of the cut that can kill. Infection can, too. I can see as of now it is not, at least... but until it heals more, there is that risk. Plus, she thought, Osiris seeing his battle-buddy from that day would do him some good. 

Hydra drew a breath and spoke again: I did not thank you that day. You saved my son. 'Thank you' is not nearly enough. That wolf, that scent—it is the girl who traveled with Caiaphas and Merrick. Vengeance had told me of her after you and I had met where the mercenary died. Merrick, Caiaphas—I had their scents. She was not with them then. But she was with them as they moved through Neverwinter Forest. Our focus shifted in the Winter to survival, when the herds left—now, though, we can return it to where it belongs. Those three—and whoever is with them in this attack upon the innocents—they will die, came her dark words. She would thank him by seeing it done, with him, too, who more than deserved his pound of flesh. 

With every mother, father, brother, sister, who sought to protect one another. This could not stand. No more. It needed to end. She looked to him to see how he felt on the matter; did he still agree? With the wound on his flesh, Hydra could not imagine that he had.