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Hydra continued her hunt, inside and outside of Moonspear. Still their caches had plenty enough but recent, warmer fare was what she sought... and things in which to replenish them. Each day brought more of the same—nothing, and more nothing. The rabid moose had gone, and with it that terrible scent... that was fortunate, at least. The last thing the Queen desired was more of that. It carried a stench that seemed to be a brother to Death; where one was, the other must be close, she imagined. 

Her eyes caught the shape of a vagabond searching; her gaze followed his own and, wondering if he had found something, Hydra readjusted her course upward. She traveled on a path that would eventually lead to his own, and whatever else might be up there.