Firefly Glen sailed out of harwich

WHAT LUCK IS THIS?!?!

The day was, for the most part, clear; Hydra had descended from Moonspear to survey the Glen. Terance had stayed away, and so too had those of his pack since they had met. The relief she felt was palpable; it was true that she did not wish any within that pack ill any longer. It did not mean that if any of them came to this place that she would not act swiftly and efficiently to make it perfectly clear that they were not welcome so near to their home. Whatever it took to make that point, she would do it. She thought of her new brothers and sisters, braver and bolder than the last litter her parents had brought to the world. Any who threatened her family would become lambs for her slaughter.

There was a figure in the distance that Hydra observed, though they were by their lonesome. The Beta was guarded and observant of her surroundings as she moved nearer. She was given pause as they fell, and her ears pricked as she caught the tail-end of his words. The accent was a foreign one to her, and Hydra sniffed at the oncoming breeze. Salt, she detected. No hint of Rannoch, Terance, Wraen, or the others. She relaxed considerably, though this was not saying too much; she was aloof, as ever, but her interest in him became far less violent.

The stranger rolls onto their back, and Hydra glances to the flock of birds he had spooked to the point of their departure. The being looked to be carefree, a man without enemies—she looked to his soft and exposed underbelly, and looked away. Though he did not appear to be a threat, he could be one—but what she considered was brief and shortlived. The Glen was no ones hunting grounds but for Moonspear, if they wanted, but it was free land otherwise. And he was not so close that she would think him to be a man with malicious intent.

She did not approach him, not wanting him to assume the worst and come for her with teeth; instead, Hydra chuffed from where she stood, bright eyes keen upon him.