Firefly Glen my funny valentine

Hydra nodded. I have yet to see these wolves for myself. I have smelled the three Arcturus has spoken with you of, however, and I can also describe their scents to you, which Hydra then began to do, rattling them off one by one... from Caiaphas, to Merrick, to the wraith that trailed them, her scent the freshest on her mind and the same as it ever was, with the addition of something other. As for their appearances, Hydra reminded her of what Arcturus may have shared with her in that same order; Caiaphas, with a pitch-black face and a white body with eyes that might very well match her daughters own yellow; Merrick, with one eye—the color of which she had not been told—and a burnished ruff; the nameless shade, who was recently injured (and she described to Ying how Dacio had done so), who was a wolf with a black coat. The matriarch paused to add, Mal has informed me that wolves have attacked his own subordinates in the same demographic as my son, and as their typical target seems to be. One he described as also injured, a male with black fur and lilac eyes. Perhaps the girl and he are related. I cannot say for certain what her own eyes look like, though, Hydra admitted. But her scent? That was more valuable than the appearance of her.

So many things could change a wolf and their appearance. New scars, new things to add upon their person—she thought of the once Nightwalker, Black Hat—but a scent? That stuck with a wolf. That was one thing that, at its base, did not seem to change. For all of the places Towhee had lived, she still had that one thing upon her scent that made her undeniably Towhee. 

Hydra huffed. They are difficult to find, it seems. We had not looked too hard in the Winter, our priority surviving the famine. It was too vain a hope to have them die of starvation, I now know, she drawls, tongue rolling over a canine as she then arrives to the point she had long been considering on her journey, I feel it is now up to me to decide what next we must do. Forgiveness is not in my nature, not with this. I cannot let this happen again, and again, and again—until one day I hear someone has died. For what? For waiting, and seeing? No. I know what they are capable of. We must prepare for that, and we then must find them. Kill them, she drawled darkly, declaring with a lifted head in a tone not at all absent of her conviction in the matter: All of us. Together. Not simply for the future of my Wilderness, but for the future of the Wilds. 

Whether the Wilds knew it yet or not, all of their young were at risk for as long as they three—or four, or five, or however many now—remained. 

She looked to Ying then, wondering what she thought of this. Wondering if she agreed, and if she would wish to join her on this journey to bringing an end to the nightmare that was Caiaphas, Merrick, the nameless one. Those that followed them. The sentiment shared was not one missed, and Hydra rumbled, thank you, Ying. Truly, with several more sweeps of her plume. Her actions spoke volumes as to the nature of her character. Hydra had done the same for her own friends in the past, friends who had taken her nature of granted. Demonized it when convenient, to make her a monster in a story of their own design. 

Hydra, though, recognized in Ying herself. Hardened by life, softened, in some measure, by love—a great betrayal would change that, but Hydra knew for certain that it would not be by her. Damn whoever might come to take advantage of Ying! But Hydra could not dwell on that now. May life be kinder to her friend than it had ever been to her, so Ying would not know the true and awful pain of it.