Firefly Glen vive, vivio, vivira

Her nose detected no signs of predator, but she heeded each of her senses. Her ears cupped as she listened. The wind stirred, though it was not in her favor. Still, movement caught her eye—her eyes locked upon the pale, scarred whisp of a woman who melted into the earth. It did plenty to mollify her immediate vexation, but still Hydra prowled nearer. No stone would be left unturned in her search for those that might seek to bring harm to her own, and she would find out soon enough if this woman was that sort. 

The Queen moved with a savage sort of grace, her blue eyes locked upon her target as she chuffed while she approached. Her keen eye was swift to catch sight of the scars that covered the visage of the she-wolf, beautiful even despite the desecration. Hydra was not yet near enough to see the murky blue of the sylph's useless eye, and drew a little closer with a scrutinous gaze. 

Did you deserve those? She asked at length, her own features impassive as she asked. Hydra had not yet passed judgment upon the woman. Sinner, or saint? Hydra herself was a self-decreed executioner of the former, this day; her tail lashed behind her while she waited to determine this, hoping for the other that she was the latter. How she looked it, even with her marred countenance!