Moonspear As if you knew who I am, as if you knew my name

She watched from afar from her usual perch above the tree line, watching as the dark shape made her way towards their borders. The scent she carried was enough to make Lyra's hairs stand on end — salt, sand, the faint musk of milk. Pregnant. Already another of the coast had come here while in heat, Hydra had told her, foolishly travelling whilst in such a vulnerable state. Now, another, only she bore the consequences of the season. Why?

Her answer came with the howl that came from the girl, and Lyra's features hardened. From the ledge, she quickly began her descent down the trail, noting Dirge's own scent as she made her way to the borders.

He was already there as she came upon the scene. Of course, he was Hydra's mate and the rightful alpha, but Lyra's own posture as she strode forth commanded the same amount of respect just as her sister would have. Where is he? She caught the tail wind of the stranger's terse question, and the Ostrega's cold gaze drifted over her. "Dead," she stated with no hint of grief.