Neverwinter Forest holy water running dry

Hydra felt the sting of disappointment at his words. Though he did not refute them, neither did he confirm them, and his following statement caused her to think he might not be so ready to plant his feet and stay with her. It was not as though she did not know this, and not as though she ought not to have anticipated it—but knowing and hoping were two different things. 

Your memory does not deceive you, she rejoined firstly: the heights of Moonspear afforded me a view of a large herd passing through. I and my sisters have encouraged them that way, she explained. No harm in doing so; these were free lands to hunt on, and also free lands to herd upon. Lyra and Alya had been continuing the process while she sought out any stragglers, though she felt as though their watchful eyes were upon her; it would not be so surprising if one of them remained near. But it changed very little. It was not as though she would not have done so, herself. 

Hydra smiled wanly to him. I cannot leave, not now. My siblings are young, and though others have joined us, I cannot think of leaving them without our protection, not after what had happened last year. As he took a step closer, Hydra followed suit—the rains had blessedly washed away the scent of Nyx and her motherhood, or she might have elected to abandon this encounter thanks to the thought that he may have left for another woman... another thing she would not have faulted him for. Hydra was always dancing on some precipice with him, though had erred on the side of caution; to give her all to someone who would leave was not something Hydra wished for. He deserved someone who could give him what he wanted—so did she. 

But here they were. 

He was very close, and so was she; a lick of lightning caused her eyes to flash and behold him. So, your journeying has not come to an end, she asked, careful to hide the disappointment in her tone to forbid he learn it wounded her any. I suppose I can understand how the sights beyond Moonspear might keep you, having seen them for herself, she did—but she loved Moonspear, loved the wolves there, loved sleeping among her sisters sprawled beneath the stars and hunting among the Ostrega's. She enjoyed helping rear her siblings, and had high hopes to turn them into her warminions; but she missed his company, and seeing the pattern of his fur as he ascended the peaks to seek her, and his silver tongue, and the thoughts he provoked. Even when he was not near, she felt his support, strangely enough—that he would not betray her, or her confidence, though he had left the peak. 

But he would not return, she did not think. Of course, she did not know it, but she kept this thought, a buffer to her emotions.