Moonspear hopes and dreams, they will collide

His words were a comfort, but only just; Hydra sought anything veiled by his silver-tongue, sought the words in what was not spoken. Had Charon done as he had on a whim? Well, the way he put it he had made it seem so. It was true, too, he could have left a long while ago; Dirge knew the colors that made her canvas—both the pretty and the foul ones—and had not for a moment diverged from her to entertain anything else. Hydra did not think of she and he as a whim; for a long time he had pursued her, and after all of that it had not been for naught. He was a constant fixture in her life; for as long as she could remember, his face was within her history. 

Her past, her present—her future. 

She was quiet still, though, as she processed it all. Dirge was prone to wandering; Hydra would never disallow him this. But her anxieties surrounding it were undeniable. Hydra wished she could have killed Speedy long ago for her face to not come to the forefront of her mind, but there that wretch was... returning now to bring ruin to her family as she had once attempted to do so long ago. 

As he spoke of coming back to her, Hydra sighed quietly. She was ashamed that she desired him to not leave her at all this season, and she would not say it, not admit that; she did not want him to think it was her fearing for his own actions and her own weakness surrounding the thought. He had not yet strayed from her that she knew; Hydra would be sure to kill whoever did attempt to come between them, right in front of him, if he ever did. 

A great force, he had said; there was no force in this lifetime greater than she. Whatever force sought to steal him from her side, she would bring it to a swift end. In solidarity, in mute acceptance and belief alike, Hydra leaned forward to press her nose against his cheek. There is no such force, she drawled, finding relief to think it so. No such force but for death, and Hydra would protect him from this too as best she was able.