Firefly Glen I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry if it got that bad

Hydra watched Meerkat move toward Kukutux and Toad, not listening—frustration died with Toads last gurgled breath. This was the first scene of devastation Meerkat had likely ever seen, and of course she would not meet this expectation she had set. Meerkat was not her mother—Meerkat was not her. She was softer, sweeter. Hydra did not want the girl near here then and there, not where the bear lingered and she might fall prey to it. Meerkat, Hydras voice was louder, now, warn the Caldera.  There she might find more comforting arms than her own; Hydra could not be soft right now, nor gentle or sweet or compassionate. 

If she was soft now, she would feel the cutting blade of death pressed flush between her ribcage. The pressure, the push; it was so close, here, and even as it walked away Hydra felt the reapers shadow waiting. For who? Hydra thought she might know, and her gaze turned toward her sister, bleeding but still standing. Living, breathing—

Desdemona, terribly still—do not look yet—

She must be strong for them all! She must carry this weight, and walk with them until the end of their roads. She directed her to the subordinate still living, who spoke to her sister, and Hydra saw him sway, rushed to his side so as to soften the blow of his fall, and Hydra's sharp voice then directed Kukutux, gesturing toward the man against her that she gently lowered to the earth. Among those present and injured, he could be saved. Keres could not. But it was clear she was not ready yet. 

Neither was she. Hydra was not ready for her to go, not ready for her to leave. She had lost one other sister here, Desdemona... 

Desdemona would want the mountain, she thought. So would Keres, despite her love for the Glen. Selfish wishes, to keep them close even beyond their deaths. Her gaze turned toward Toad, who she wanted, too, to rest within the Spear. She imagined Meerkat might want a say within her resting place, and Kukutux, too, and she would allow them that despite her desire to steal her away. Hydra would say her words to each of them, say all the things she wanted to say, when she was alone among them... 

She must not be soft. Not now. Must not feel, lest she feel every wound delivered to them by the beast on her own skin. 

Hydra looked to Antares, who looked to her for guidance as Conquest had; she hoped he would not be useless as she gestured toward Desdemona and drawled, help me to take her home. It would always be her home; she would rest among their family, and someday... someday, Hydra would rest with her there when her own time had come. That day had not yet come. To Keres, Hydra checked her lucidity: will you watch our backs, sister? her gaze, searching—was she still with them in mind? Her spirit was surely attached that she remained standing; Hydra would not waste a minute with her.