Moonspear I don't wanna go, go, go with the flow

It was not the sound that drew her, but the familiar scent. Strong, stronger than it had been for grueling days that had felt like wartorn years for her. Mira, the nipping wind told her. Moments before the call, Hydra had already begun to run. She prayed this was no cruel delusion cultivated by her yearning, and as the wind howled with her daughter Hydra swallowed her hope. These months, the wind often played the part of trickster with its whistling gales. 

Hydra broke through the trees, and even seeing her daughter there the mother could scarcely believe her own eyes that she was here, and whole, and breathing. Real, she begged, bounding toward her cub without reserve. Blood, whose blood—real, she wondered, moving just behind her daughter to see what else might be in their midst before circling and drawing up alongside, 

Real, real, she willed, reaching out to to feel her briefly—

Real. 

She need not ask who. The scent that comingled with her daughter was with her, and her gaze fell upon the head. 

It was they that kept Mira from her. 

So, you have seen for yourself now how the wolves of this world can be. I am glad that it is her head brought to me today, rather than yours, she drawled darkly. She was only disappointed that her daughter had not shared with any of her departure; if they had known, this may never have happened. 

But the result of it, this—Hydra was not unhappy. She regarded her daughter, drawing nearer to her. I am proud of you, for doing what you must, she murmured for her daughters ears, to get home. But you are not to leave here again without telling anyone, am I understood? Come, let us get you cleaned up, she determined, blood and gore is gauche. Nosing her daughters hind to usher her into their home, she paused to look at the head before grabbing hold of it to take it with them. 

A plaything for Mira, or a trophy—her daughter could decide.