Redhawk Caldera to autumn and i fall all over her

He fell apart before her eyes. 

Hydra did not so much as recoil; she took it in. He had seen her in such a way. He had turned his back on her then. There was no satisfaction to be felt as she witnessed it—he had decided this. He would suffer this pain, confide in Rannoch, and forget it once she was out of sight and (she believed) out of mind. For all of his hurt, Hydra witnessed no regret. 

She could not find in herself the desire to ask about his new life. Hydra, too, wanted to forget. Hydra had managed to forget his face, his features; once she had memorized the space between his eyes, and the length of his muzzle. She would have known his profile anywhere. Hydra had known his broadness, his stature, his frame. Today, as she had seen him, she did not. She had forgotten those things that were once so important for her to know—

but she had remembered his voice. Maybe it had been beginning to fade from her memory, but she recognized it as he had called her name, knew it still. 

Do you want me to leave? He asked. Hydra stared at him for a long moment. She had not wanted that, never wanted that—but he had. Hydra took several steps toward him. Hydra remembered the hurt he had caused her, felt it here and now, but she did not show it. He could never see it again. She smelled the fragrance of another upon him, a distinct and cloying sort of scent, and she blinked. Terance... humor me for a moment, will you? I want you to hear me. It was not truly a question, but she waited for a beat before continuing. So much time has passed. I have had time to think, time to clear my head. And I want you to know, I do not hate Rannoch, not now that I understand him. He is a man without sight, and his wife is the rest of his senses. He needs her. Her mind is his mind, she expressed, and so, of course, he would believe her as she spoke against my sisters and I. For so long I could not understand. I trusted him, I liked him... I thought he was a bit soft, but I respected him—he worked hard, she went on. But, well, as I reflected, I remembered something he said: He didn't know what happened that made Liffey ever feel that way, that she could not forget. Because that was the puzzle piece that put the picture together. And I understood then. What Liffey believes will supersede what he can see with his own two eyes. Which is what I mean, when I say he is without sight, Hydra paused, and said with a sigh: How can I hate a man who cannot trust what he has seen for himself? Who somehow cannot trust what he knows? I can only pity him, she admitted. 

Hydra continued. But you are not blind, Terance, her voice was even. You know how I felt. You knew better than anyone. I told you everything. I understood you wanted to start over, Hydra expressed, lest he think she had expected him to stay with her, which she truly had wished but, more than that, wanted him to find some fraction of happiness for himself... just not the way he had determined to do so. Not in a way that was a blatant slap to her face. But you did it with a woman who besmirched my name to a wolf I had imagined was my friend, and you followed him, too, even after knowing all that transpired. Hydra's voice did not rise in volume as she spoke. 

She was quiet to let him process this. To understand where it was she was going. If the roles were reversed, I would never have done as you did, Terance, she pressed. Not simply because it could happen to me, when I trusted him—no, but because I cared about you, respected you, knew you. I used to be able to just take you at your word, and I would have. She licked her chops and stared long and hard at him, drawing in a deep breath. Truly, if Terance had told her about Towhee, Hydra would have ended that relationship because Terance had earned more than simply her benefit of the doubt. Terance, though, simply did what was convenient to him in the end. So she was lucky she had never known, lest she would have ended a relationship with a wolf who (she believed) truly did care for her. 

You were sound of sight, smell, and mind when you made your decision to follow them. You mattered to me, once, more than anything, and you still followed them— she shook her head. Even Gannet chose to stay, Terance, Gannet, who had every reason to mistrust she and her sisters (though their attack had at the time truly been justifiable), had stayed. Even when the Caldera had come to escort him home if he wished, he stayed. She somehow remained composed, throughout all of this. She needed him to know that she had meant what they said during their last conversation, now more than ever. 

He had betrayed her by running with wolves who he knew had thrown baseless things about her and her sisters, wolves he claimed he loved. 

He could have his happy new life—but he could never have her. 

So yes, Terance. I want you to leave. Hydra was aware that he would never seek to right his wrongs. That he would be content to stay where he was. And long ago, Hydra had accepted that. It was what made her voice steel as she spoke the words, it was what made her appear so unflinching before him now as she stood, resolute, by her words. She was not so weak-willed as to seek a relationship with the man who had betrayed her. Because he had made his own decision then. She still knew him. He was stubborn. She believed even now, he would never admit he did the wrong thing by her. And even if he did, he would never do anything about it. She would certainly be more inclined to believe he gave some semblance of a care for her if he had, but what would he do that for now, if he hadn't then? 

All his words had become to her now were wind.