Moonspear and still insists he sees the ghost

Hydra watched her son, admired his prowess. 

Would there ever be a time she did not look upon her children and remember them as they once were? Gangly-limbed and awkward, their paws much too big for their bodies. 

He looked like a man; powerful, strong, capable. Her ears pricked as she watched him move with a self-assuredness granted to him by teachings, instinct, and learned experience alike. She stepped closer to Dirge, admiring the way their son moved in silence as he rounded the herd that had, in fact, been there. Hydra darted forward then, head squared between her shoulders; the visible presence of she, Atlas, and Dirge would surely unnerve the creatures. 

It would only be a matter of time before Atlas broke them into movement, and her favored part of the hunt could begin. Hydra darted right, monitoring their movements and listening for any cues that meant it was time to give chase. Atlas would be at the lead, as the young often were, and Hydra watched, and waited.