Moonspear they put angels in the electric chair

Hydra trailed a far different weasel than the one Altair did. 

Hers was tawny and larger than he had been so many months ago—though there were similarities (presently) between the prey he sought and her son. Like how neither, at this very point in time, in this very second, knew they were being hunted. Hydra did not mind granting her cubs more freedoms, but certainly not without knowing where it was they went so she could have some sort of watchful eye upon them. Growing bigger, sure, but hardly wiser to the savagery of the world. 

She would not shield them from it. Hydra supposed she would let it strike them, so they could know it for themselves—but then she would kill the bastard who dared dream of touching her own. Who might only succeed on one so innocent and naive as a child. 

They had plenty of learning to still do. Hydra tested her son then, keeping downwind and content to simply watch for now. She had no intent to intervene on his quest, and she wondered at his tracking abilities in any event. It was easy to forget the progression of a hunter, so well versed in the trade herself. What was he capable of? ...Soon, he would join them on the hunt—time continued to fly, but she never tired of marveling and watching her children becoming. Quietly, she continued to follow after.