Moonspear beautiful

No, she had not found them. 

Hydra wondered if she ever would. She did not know the scent; she knew vague details. Wounds, that may not have even scarred. That have, by now, already healed. Hydra remembered, of course; she would never forget. Who could forget the scent of one that had touched their son? 

As for what came next, Hydra listened quietly. Praimfaya, a spy—such a thing did come as a surprise to her. The explanation made sense, though Hydra did not particularly agree with the method. Clever as the matriarch was, she preferred the tried and true method of simply killing the bastards that wronged her. It might take time, but it made things all the sweeter when it was done with. Still, it would be good to know whether or not the method worked. Praimfaya could, feasibly, break them from within. 

What did she know of the Saints? I have heard tell of their leader, she hummed, a fool, if rumor is to be believed. What of their ally, Ursus? I have not heard of them, she drawled—not yet, in any event—and she asks, do you know of their own leaders? And why your own would align with them, if he receives no benefit? She wondered at that, and since Praimfaya knew Donovan she presumed she might have a better idea than most.