Moonspear At the sick bed of Cuchulainn, we'll kneel and say a prayer

Hydra listened to her son and nodded. She would not give him false notions; though she felt their family superior to all, there was still work to be done. Hydra had shared with him most of the good, and very little of the bad, but now he was old enough to think mindfully and work toward understanding it all, as she did. Her mind still worked at it, in fact. 

She nodded, agreeing with her son. She is a coward. Content to tell stories, but never able to confront me herself. It is why I feel I mostly cannot trust wolves that tell stories such as that, and I do not mean of history; the narrative is hardly reliable, more often told from the singular, narrow perspective of a wolf who likely did plenty of wrong, if not more, themselves, she drawled. I would rather believe what I see with my own eyes. And from a coward, I trust no thing at all. They will say or do anything to keep alive, and cowards can be clever, she drawled, very clever. She warned. 

Hydra inched closer to him at his question, chuffing a warm breath of air. Yes, you heard right, she drawled, younger siblings. Little brothers or sisters, perhaps both, which prompted some thought. What might come from the union of she and Dirge this year?