Neverwinter Forest holy water running dry

An afternoon thunderstorm drove him to the forest bearing familiarity of the highest sort, but realization had set in long before that in all actuality. He had felt a moth drawn by flame as dawn broke, the jarring sight of distant yet not so distant mountains playing anchor on the horizon further down along the river. Where he had not placed much stock into what he had recognized before, far too caught up in the proverbial bombshell @Nyx had laid out, he now knew he had come full circle of sorts from where he had once gone.

So how fitting it was by the afternoon, that he would find himself seeking refuge beneath the evergreens once again. They did little to hush the rumble of unhappy skies and groaning gusts of wind, but he found the protection they did offer to be more of the drier variety. Lingering along the fringes of the forest, it was with a squinted gaze he searched for his sister briefly, but gave up the quest shortly thereafter—she was smart enough to seek shelter on her own, and thus had not followed him as far as he could tell. Though he made means to rejoin her later, his ranging grew farther and farther at times, the pair working independently as much as they did together. Whether or not that was for the better he could not have said, but he had little desire to stray from her permanently of his own accord.

Turning his focus away from the outer limits and storm, he hastily made his way inward through the ferns. Notably soaked, he shook the lingering water from himself more than once; the canopies could only hold off so much of the rain so unfortunately, he would not be drying so quickly. It did little to dampen his motivation as he went along, his thoughts shifted well past his sister and the storm to something he hadn't entertained in many days—@Hydra. With the span of mountains that housed Moonspear so close, it was a not an easy topic to bypass, and he wondered what had become of her since they had parted.

tags are for visibility

The Beta female had only strayed from Moonspear's borders after observing the evening before the largest herd she had ever seen moving together toward her packlands. Though they were not too far, Hydra brought @Lyra and @Alya with her to encourage the animals closer still to home. And that was what they did, throughout the day; they lazily encouraged the critters out of Neverwinter and toward the mountains. Once they finished this task, @Lyra and @Alya went on to complete it as Hydra sought to investigate the rest of the territory for any that might have been left behind. 

The skies had changed; what had been an oncoming thunderstorm was there before Hydra could think to quit the territory and head toward the mountains. For the meantime, she would find refuge here; as she meandered throughout the territory, she found only remnants of the herd but none of them themselves. She and her sisters had done well, she thought to herself with a pleased flick of her tail. 

She was dryer than the stranger that broke through the woods and into her line of sight; the bitch bristled for a moment, startled by his arrival as it had been accompanied by a thunderclap that announced him. Lightning flashed and lit the curve of her pale fangs, which she quickly sheathed as she looked to the familiar face—one that even time could not permit her to forget. Her ears pricked as she looked to him, wondering how he might take to her presence. Hydra had never wanted their companionship to end, but life had other plans for them; his wanderlust was what he prioritized, just as she had done in being unable to leave her family behind. Had Galaxy not passed, perhaps her life would have been very different—but she had, and Hydra was fiercely protective over the new life that her mother had brought into the world. 

So, the pieces had fallen where they would—but here he was again, before her very eyes, and alone.

A gale caught the underside of the boughs above him as the squall rolled mercilessly overhead; not even the towering mountains could stop the swing of an otherworldly arm and the swath it swung. Lightning crackled and stole his breath, close enough to give more than a spring in his step as earth shook and sky rumbled. It was in the next breath he caught a glimpse of her before she emerged—the very appearance of simply someone else was enough for him to slam his feet to stop in the slick earth itself, toes splaying uncomfortably. Before he knew who it was he locked eyes with her and the wind teased the air from parted lips with hushed gusto.

He was hardly rendered breathless by recognition.

Spring had been good to her was the first thought to cross by, a wandering gaze undeniably interested in her—her wellbeing notwithstanding, she did not strike him to be one to lay to waste—and with some minute, rapid fire deciding it was undeniably her and not a doppelganger. Though her sisters and she were eeriely alike, he had not forgotten the differences among them, chiefly being that she had not gone through to put her teeth to him as another would. An ear turned as thunder rumbled again, this time more remote than before. The storm would not abate for a while yet, but it was secondary to what rose to the forefront in his mind. A broad smile bloomed across his features, ever thin-lipped and gently pursed but nonetheless as she would care to remember him; it was knavish as the glow of his gaze and the words that sprang to life off tongue tip.

"A sight for sore eyes, am I? You look rather ravishing yourself, the storms be damned," and a pause slipped in. Raindrops splattered against his muzzle as he drew it up to regard her better, ever mindful, and felt a burn he likened to having missed her. She was far more put together than he was and he wouldn't have had it any other way. After all, she was ever keen to preen until every hair had its proper place, but perhaps that was only a slight embellishment. The wilds had not had their way with her as they had him and he thought it only added to his charm... a charm which had no problem finding a place to take root as he narrowed the distance between them.

On hushed notes he concluded, "but then again I cannot think of a time when you didn't."

He reacted as she had, and she could find no fault in it; Hydra's notched ear flicked, and she heard his voice over the din of the pouring rain that thudded recklessly against the canopy of leaves above them. He moved nearer to her as he spoke, and Hydra's eyes did not remove themselves from him as he came closer and closer still. He was a sight, even for eyes that were not sore; Hydra had always found him attractive, and her interest in him had not been a mystery a knave like Dirge could not solve.

Want to deny it though she did, she felt that similar burn—she warred with it. Hydra knew she was enough, more than that—but she had not been for him, and it frustrated her to know this. Hydra liked to believe that if she had really wanted to, maybe she could have asked him to stay a while longer, and maybe he would have, for her and for her alone—and he had, even without her asking, for her to settle things before their impromptu vacation.. but inevitably, he would have wanted to go.

Though he never had said for how long. And she realized that question pressed against her teeth, her tongue holding it there. His compliments were rewarded with a chaste smile, and knowing eyes—the sort only a groomed princess could give, one that exhibited the innocence she still held intact and yet the desire that rest just beneath the surface. Was it her heart that thundered so, or the skies?

He flirted, and Hydra would not resist temptation to flirt back: are you coming home to me at last, Dirge? She inquired, her smile growing. Had his wandering heart begun to beat for more than just the views outside of his present reach?

How persistent of her, to let that be her opening line.

His smile may have seemed a sneer for the briefest moment and if it had been, it was in jest. He was not a creature so easily tamed and as it were, necessity had not dictated he make one decision or another. The wilderness welcomed him; it had beckoned him to take flight all thise weeks ago. Many things had changed since then and relatively speaking, rapidly as of late. Yet his sister did not cross his mind here, not yet.

He made an appraising hum.

"More like I was hoping you had come to join me," though even he knew he could not sway her by words alone. "Last time I knew your father's claim didn't stretch this far." Perhaps their little venture had ignited what he had hoped for, and perhaps he misunderstood her opening line. Home was a rather dynamic thing for him.

Still, he tested her boundaries as he had before, ever drawing close so that he might have been able to only reach out and touch her... or as the long standing impression suggested, that she may strike him like the always coiled viper lying in wait.

Hydra felt the sting of disappointment at his words. Though he did not refute them, neither did he confirm them, and his following statement caused her to think he might not be so ready to plant his feet and stay with her. It was not as though she did not know this, and not as though she ought not to have anticipated it—but knowing and hoping were two different things. 

Your memory does not deceive you, she rejoined firstly: the heights of Moonspear afforded me a view of a large herd passing through. I and my sisters have encouraged them that way, she explained. No harm in doing so; these were free lands to hunt on, and also free lands to herd upon. Lyra and Alya had been continuing the process while she sought out any stragglers, though she felt as though their watchful eyes were upon her; it would not be so surprising if one of them remained near. But it changed very little. It was not as though she would not have done so, herself. 

Hydra smiled wanly to him. I cannot leave, not now. My siblings are young, and though others have joined us, I cannot think of leaving them without our protection, not after what had happened last year. As he took a step closer, Hydra followed suit—the rains had blessedly washed away the scent of Nyx and her motherhood, or she might have elected to abandon this encounter thanks to the thought that he may have left for another woman... another thing she would not have faulted him for. Hydra was always dancing on some precipice with him, though had erred on the side of caution; to give her all to someone who would leave was not something Hydra wished for. He deserved someone who could give him what he wanted—so did she. 

But here they were. 

He was very close, and so was she; a lick of lightning caused her eyes to flash and behold him. So, your journeying has not come to an end, she asked, careful to hide the disappointment in her tone to forbid he learn it wounded her any. I suppose I can understand how the sights beyond Moonspear might keep you, having seen them for herself, she did—but she loved Moonspear, loved the wolves there, loved sleeping among her sisters sprawled beneath the stars and hunting among the Ostrega's. She enjoyed helping rear her siblings, and had high hopes to turn them into her warminions; but she missed his company, and seeing the pattern of his fur as he ascended the peaks to seek her, and his silver tongue, and the thoughts he provoked. Even when he was not near, she felt his support, strangely enough—that he would not betray her, or her confidence, though he had left the peak. 

But he would not return, she did not think. Of course, she did not know it, but she kept this thought, a buffer to her emotions.

She may have taken pains to hide her disappointment, but he sensed it was there all the same. It would have been, for otherwise would she have let him come so close and humored him so. His gaze wandered appreciatively as he listened; he found nothing out of place, not on her body or in the careful selection of words she presented to him. The only thing that tore his gaze away for the moment was the sharp flash of lightning, but even then he did not keep his attention skyward long.

It was her parting statement that he felt did the least to hide her disappointment, however void it may have been from her tone. What she succeeded in was hiding the hurt, the words instead coming off as they should have for someone of her station. Slyly curt, though he wondered if his own ears embellished what he heard. His head canted slightly in response as he let his gaze travel the length of her body again, instead wondering what she would do if he were to push his luck. However he remained where he was, letting desire wither for more sobering conversation.

"Things have changed as much for you as for I," he started, no careful choice of words there. "I do not travel alone now, for one. I found my sister on the coast," and he paused, wondering what cards to reveal. It wasn't his story to tell by any means and given the nature of it, it wasn't a story that he felt needed told at all. The damage of it being told to him was enough to lend him hesitation. His gaze returned to Hydra's then, the mirth he carried murky and ebbing.

"To make a long story short, she was in need of my care." His gaze felt pointed, even to him, and he drew it away to scan the wet forest over his shoulder. It would not have surprised him if she did indeed lurk somewhere in the distance. She had done much in the way of following him and as of late, less in the way of conversation. But he found nothing and used it as a point to break away from Hydra to circle out and make distance. Troubled, every ounce of him suggested. It was far more than that, much as he put on a brave face.

He had found his sister on the coast. And she was in need of his care. Hydra wondered at this, and knew his vagueness was intentional; she did not care for the devil in the details. She had done away with all of hers and was more than confident he could, as well, if he wanted to. Hydra simply thought to ask, is the care she requires something that only a journey could remedy? Succinct and deliberate. 

Lyra was a medicine woman, after all. 

But they both knew that Moonspear would not house a wolf that could not give their loyalty, not again—Hydra had known, and had advised her father, of his temporary stay, and Dirge had pulled his weight and then some. But, unless he became their ambassador and scout, he could not come and go as he pleased—and she would not suggest a life to him that would make him feel collared and leashed, as she did not think it something he would appreciate. He was a wild man, and only he could and would know when those days were finished and he could call someplace home. 

She knew he defined it differently. If her own circumstances were different, perhaps she would, too. But the mountain had her mother, her father, her brothers, her sisters. It had food, water, and shelter. It had always been Moonspear, for all of her life, and even should one day she leave it, it would likely still be that for her; it was where she was born and raised. Where so many of her firsts were. And there were still so many more to be had, perhaps even there—a suitor, who would speak to her father and express their intent, and then prove to her their desire... 

Hydra had wondered if perhaps this might be the man to do so, though as the rain dribbled off his sharp jawline she felt she may have been wrong. He was a man with more than the lust to wander, after all; he had a smooth tongue, and an appetite she knew existed that she had not sated—how many women might have imagined the very same thing she had, except that they might have shared themselves with him until the Summer came, and he craved a new adventure (and with it, a new bed)? 

She was no fool, even despite her inexperience. He knew her, but she knew him, too; she, a pit-viper, he, a snake charmer. And she was not immune to that charm! But she was wise to it, and he would receive a fatal dose of venom if he pressed too much—Hydra would not fall into his basket, as she imagined others may have, as his words wrapped around her as a pungi's song would the cobra.

He found little change in the gaze she held on him. Her words carried concern, the sort with evey intent to aid and for as good natured as it was he wondered if it were really the answer to fix things. For him in regards to answering to someone else, it was very much like being collared and tethered; it was hard to remain objective when he had nothing but his own experiences to stack the deck of possibilities too. It had not helped the cause that his tenure with Moonspear had been steeped in messy business, business that he had aided in his own way however distantly in the background. The affairs of others were not quite his cup of tea, unless he had something from them to gain.

Family, of course, remained the exception.

"In this case, yes," came his vague response which he sought to narrow. "These wounds are not of the physical sort." He did not believe the answer to be in the company of others, not when the ordeal she had been through had happened in that same sort of company. It was more than that however, for he wondered how she would respond to other children when guilt of losing her own was still just beneath the surface; he wondered how she would have been looked upon for her actions, should they too have been brought to light. It seemed a better route to go to simply go and cross what came when they approached it. It wasn't the best plan, but it was the best he could provide.

His head bowed towards the earth as another rumble of thunder passed, considerations piling high. It felt as though things were at the tipping point, not so much in what he would do as what she would do. It was this notion that she would deem her efforts as futile and turn tail, and he was not quite ready to let her slip away. He searched for words that were all too difficult to find, this chance meeting having rendered him and his charm mute. He was less of a snake charmer now than he was a wolf caught in a snare, not quite able to decide between what he wanted and what was best.

"While I do miss your companionship greatly, I have my doubts that I would be a welcome face. That is something I'm not inclined to put her through, as we both have not had the best experiences in history with such things," and now he had moved to careful choices with his words. Hydra he knew would take him, but her father was another story, and he did not wish to actively seek rough scorn from the bespeckled patriarch. Especially given his inclination to do as he pleased.

Hydra had experienced only the bare minimum of wounds to her psyche, though her pride did not permit she endure such turmoil for long. She was unable to empathize and did not pretend that she understood. He knew best about his sister, and if he believed that traveling was the medicine for her, so be it—Hydra had no reason not to believe him, and he had given her the answer she sought. Hydra could read between the lines to arrive at his point: no. 

And she was not angry with him for it; he had not conned or deceived her, not from the start. He had determined to sit upon a ship that would not stop again at her port, and she must let him pass. Another peal of thunder sounded, and her heart thudded in her throat as he spoke again. 

She was surprised to hear that he had missed her companionship, though he proved as much in remaining here still. Surprised, more, to hear him consider aloud a return. This she wanted—it was clear in the questions she had pressed him with—but would not encourage, because what dismayed her more than him finding another was his resentment toward her should he think she coerced him into acting in a way he did not desire to. More than that, she wanted such a commitment to be done of his own volition. Her ears twitched atop her crown, and listened to the rain for a moment as she considered all of this. 

Those unwelcome to stay are those that intend to come and go, she breathed, and continued: I understood before, and you were welcome as it was Winter, and you were honest then with your plan to leave once the season passed; it was disappointing to see you go, though I knew you must. I could bear it once, she expressed, but not again. Because for him to leave again would be for her to know concretely she was not what he had come for after all; it was a selfish thing, truly, and she knew it, but the two of them shared attributes within that category, she felt. So if it comes to pass that you do decide to return, she expressed, let it be because you know that is where you want to be. He and his sister had endured much, she imagined, for she could hedge some conclusions based on his words; it was their life, and their choice, and Hydra would not condemn him for returning if he himself wanted to be there. Not simply to keep warm and fed, as he had in the Winter—for something more than survival. 

Hydra did not wish for him to perceive home as chains; but he would if he had no say in the matter and no other perspective with which to look upon the place. She wanted him to want this for himself. The Ostrega moved toward him, to press her nose against his shoulder. If this life with your sister is what gives you wings, know that the last thing I desire is to remove them from you. And if you must fly north, as some birds will once Winter passes, she continued, then I understand. She had offered him refuge once, thinking as much, but knowing it was different. But I seek more than that. Her nose, if it had made contact, would trace to the apex of his shoulderblade and linger there a moment before she removed it. 

Subtle, but to the point—she did not begrudge him, would not begrudge him, for his ways; but there were others that might display their interest, and were he not around, there was little point to wait for what might never come. Hydra knew he would not ask it of her, just as she would not make any demands of him; but it all came at a cost, and her words were spoken to provoke him to reveal to her just what it was he meant by his words. She did not need an answer about his future plans, but she desired to understand why he would speak of missing her when there was nothing he would do for it—

That was wrong, no, that was not the reason, because she understood in a way that he might, but perhaps he himself was waiting for her words, to see if such a chance existed for him. It did! What was more? Well, his loyalty; perhaps he might not flirt with the women of the Teekons, as her sister had revealed to her long ago (oh, she could not forget that!)... As for what else, she supposed she might know it in the moment, but at least now he would know there was more he could stand to gain, but only if he could know for himself it was truly what he wanted; Hydra would not permit him into her life again at all, and at least he would know why.

He had always had his wings, so to speak. Since having left his birthplace he had done nothing but soar and let the world take him where he wanted to go. For the longest time he believed it had done the same for his siblings and perhaps it had, not to completely undermine all that had become of Nyx. But he too desired and sought more than that, to never be shackled underneath the weight of what was and what could be, to never need to answer to anyone in particular. So it was with some resignation that he had to admit to himself that in regards to her, he did not know what move to make next.

Her touch was welcomed, but it burned like ice laid on bare flesh as it curved upward to his shoulder, pulling his gilded gaze to the sharpness of her wintry blues. A brief turmoil between emotions erupted there beneath a still expression, but it was that sort of touch that emboldened him. He wanted her and more than just a carnal capacity but that was there too, burning low and hot. Hydra was more than just a pretty thing or a poised pit viper—she was decidedly forbidden fruit he hungered for, but remained out of reach of.

"I seek more than that as well," he said, drawing in a breath as he paused; words still didn't spill forth in the way he wanted them to. But the show must go on. "I admit I have entertained the thought of you with me, but I know there's little use in tempting and trying to have you follow me, and that does make what ideas I've had more difficult to achieve." He would let her draw her own conclusions for a moment but any implication was liable to hold a shred of truth. "Granted my aspirations, as they are and were, are lofty, but I had hoped that you would come along to lead with me when the time came." The rest had never fallen into place, but he knew he would never settle for less for long; he knew when the opportunity came, he would seize it all the same.

He surprised her more and more. 

She supposed it was another thing she enjoyed about him; he was a man full of surprises. He had not yet spoken dishonestly to her, and she had no reason not to believe his truth; she grinned to his words, and her head cocked a measure to ascertain whether or not he meant what he spoke. Hydra was a woman who followed only her own whims and desires, no others; it was why she remained where she was at present. That whim was more than simply that, though; it was what life had done to her, had her witness. 

She leaned forward. If you do not think that time is now, who is to say what the future might hold? Hydra asked with a shrug of her shoulders. Though her ambition had yet to rear its head fully (she was young, yet) the bitch discounted nothing. But what she wanted was to know the loyalty was true, and that it was to her; it was not an unfair thing to desire, given what she knew of his nature. He might have the same thoughts, given what he knew of hers—but Hydra had never had an issue in keeping her word, though none was really given. Only interest. The Ostrega knew they both had things to nurture in the interim: he his sister, and she, her newest siblings. Hydra imagined that her father would desire loyalty in her suitor, and there was one way he could prove as much to her as much as to her father—she wanted to know, she realized then. She wanted him to show her he meant what he spoke. 

She asked for nothing still, nor encouraged; she simply sought to plant an idea into his mind, as it came to her—they could, perhaps, pursue the future and its unknown mysteries together. His answer would reveal to her, she supposed, whether or not he was keen on learning as much.

She leaned into him, her words just as hot on his ear as her nose had been. It almost was like being put to the screws, the intent behind her words bewildering. It was not the answer he had anticipated, let alone her pressing so close; all he could muster at first was a hazy smile slowly spreading on his face. Her confidence had always been a drawing point for him but even now it was steeped in pride. Did she think to still try and pull him in, to tame him with her womanly wiles? The very question crossed his mind for a fleeting moment.

"I never said the time wasn't now, princess," and he dared to sound chastising here, even more daring to press back against her. "But I seek to make a claim of my own, not take up a mantle. Such things take time; only the foolhardy cobble it together and make it last." But she would know that he thought, her father had done so and well, Dirge did not believe Moonspear's success on good luck and faith alone. Their backers had helped and now, he presumed it was family that had kept them together. At least for now. He knew a thing or two about family.

But nevertheless, the idea had lingered for some time. It had been a seedling when he had left the confines of what had once been an unpleasant home and here, he thought perhaps the idea could sprout. He had no desire now to bend to the will of another, less to subject himself and Nyx to the same. It was as ambitious as it was self-preserving, and chances were it was every bit as foolhardy as he hoped to avoid. Now two wolves hardly made a pack, but three was more of a step in the right direction... assuming he could ever acquire a third to go along with the shenanigans.

You implied it, she scoffed with a playful nip as he, too, moved nearer—though it was not done to drive him away. That you would be wandering for a while longer, as your sister healed, Hydra reminded him; and his words did much to create inspiration and ideas both, neither of which she presently intended to act upon. Perhaps she had inspired him to do so, here and now; Hydra knew that good things required hard work, however, and was not so inclined to follow suit. But she was not a follower herself; that, the tawny wolf also knew. 

She circled him, mindful of the slick earth as thunder boomed above the duo, and lightning flashed thrice over in the distance. I know it, she responded. And you know I am no foolhardy woman, her tail lashed behind her, and though her lips did not lift in a smile, her eyes held the expression in their dark depths. Hydra did not want to tame; she did not want to bend him to her will or to have him bend the knee to her (her fantasies omitted). 

Hydra did not know what she wanted, beyond his nearness, which she presently had—but neither of them were willing to keep it, as it stood. 

And then it came to her, what she wanted—some sort of compromise, acknowledged or otherwise. His willing return; his courting; his proof of commitment to her, and her proof of commitment to him when the seasons shifted; mantles be damned, Hydra felt in her bones she was meant to take, not be given (though that certainly did not mean she intended to take from her family)—there was risk, but there was reward, much of it. 

She wondered if it was something that he thought of, or saw in her—and if he did not, Hydra determined that he would see it once it was too late... Hydra placed her muzzle over his shoulder, her tail swaying. It had come to her once before, when he had filled out in his stay at Moonspear, her idea of a future with him—it presented itself again to her, but she would digress if he gave up on the chase. 

There were easier things to catch, after all; but none of them would ever amount to her.

She was more animated now, more charismatic beyond words as she circled him. He knew she was no ordinary creature; that in part was what drew her to him time and time again. Perhaps there was something in that which he admired. It was hard to stay stationary as she completed her assessment, but his continued bewilderment did not bring much ease to him as she laid her muzzle along his ruffled, damp shoulders. Instead was arose dared him to be bold, to reach out and see what he could do with the tools he had been given to work with.

He turned in on her gently, discarding his present worries and light words for action. His nose met the slick hairs of her back somewhere along the middle as he entertained the thought of what more she desired. He was not clueless, not entirely, to what she had asked of him once before. He knew that question still danced openly as it had then, if there had ever been any doubt she had dampened the flame. Drawing in the muddled scents, he breathed hotly against her frame as temptation ignited within. He pried loose of her tame hold to draw himself alongside of her, his lips finding her soft ear.

"What is it that you fear, my dear," came his voice, hushed and low to that very ear. "Are you afraid that I'll run away and leave you without a word? Or is it the uncertainty of what lies outside your world?" A pause. "Perhaps it is both. I still intend stay my course but my goal remains the same. Do you not trust me? Think my adoration for you is a ruse?" He scoffed, more to himself than anyone else. He would never be the conventional sort, nor a generated man of valor from fairy tales told in their youth.

He let a parting statement snake past his lips.

"You have so much potential to be more."

He came close, and she felt his lips against her notched-ear; Hydra was no fool to think that he might not harm her, because it was those closest to her that had hurt her within her life, and so the beginnings of a growl was elicited that simply advised, careful!; but she was silenced, briefly, by his whispers. First she was overwhelmed by the feeling of his breath upon a spot so exposed and unguarded, and that passed through the entirety of her in a vibrating shiver. Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned toward him, the warmth of him welcomed against the raindrops that, now and then, fell upon her. Interpretation took her a moment in light of the physicality of it all—she let herself be, for that moment, unthinking and only feeling; her eyes were closed, and then came some understanding. 

She snaked her own muzzle toward the base of his ear, shifting her body so as to make this possible, tit-for-tat in this solely sensory experience. No, she responded, No. It is not the uncertainty or the unknown that I fear, Dirge, she explained, voice low and slow. All that, I would be willing to explore— with you, but she withheld; he knew that much now, did he not? She withdrew a measure, so he could look upon her and understand what kept her rooted, and its meaning to her—the time, temporary, it required. I saw my sister fall before my eyes. I saw the weak-willed, yellow-bellied cur that let it happen flee. I avenged Galaxy as best I could, she hummed, but he lives and breathes, as I respected the beliefs of those that think they know him. She paused, and bore her teeth at that; they were wrong, and were it not for Gannet remaining, there would be nothing to keep her from her self-made order of protection against him. They are young. I think if given the opportunity, he would try his luck on them, she admitted. Her ears pressed forward, before one cupped backward. Hydra sought to teach them how to defend themselves from the likes of creatures like Screech, and to defend them while they could not. 

He is pathetic, but they are children still, pathetic, too—though them, she could shape and advise. 

His admittance of her affection toward her was thought of then. I want more than adoration, she expressed, then. You came to me when it suited you, your survival; I know that. What I want... she explained, is for you to do as you want, wherever that might lead you; though I had hoped it might lead you to me, her eyes shifted toward the woods, before they fell to him again.

His final words rewarded him a radiant smile as her head lifted proudly, muzzle draping demurely over her throat. She was a woman, and a strong one. In time, she would become a bringer of life, as capable of that in her season as she was of bringing death, when she needed. She had accomplished much already, and though she was content with her lot in life now, her ambition had yet to show its face in full—but a portion of it could be seen now in her eyes, as another fork of lightning flashed beyond the forest—the embers of them dancing in her eyes. I know what I am capable of, she spoke in tandem with the rolling thunder, her voice one with it, I know where my path will lead me, she declared. Princess, now, yes; but with teeth and ambitions bared, she would be Queen someday. 

It was an inevitable thread of her life that she knew she would come to.

The question was, would he seek to do so alongside her? Would his patience permit more time? Would his pride permit him to ever return to Moonspear to make her his first conquest? He did not need to; Hydra knew he would do well enough without her, if that was what he wished, and she would understand—but to him, for him, she shelved her sin for the moment (though it raged within her, reaching to rebuild and shelter the ego that would feel its final lance of pain should he put his own first).

He let her have her piece, eyes watching with rapt attention to the subtleties in her expression. They were not dissimilar in their designs, despite being cut of different cloth. While he did not understand all imparted to him, he could fathom her drive to stay, to protect; had their roles been reversed then it may have been true that he never answered the call of the wild and dispersed. Not all of his siblings had either, nor his mother. They had always stayed an ever constant, a nurturing entity that clearly had their role. Ambition did not burn as brightly for them as it did he, and it was that very ambition emanating from Hydra that let a long, thin smile split his features.

"We shall see," he quipped, the first words slow off his tongue, "but is that because it's been pre-destined for you, all laid out and waiting? Or will you take what you want?" Or would she let herself be taken? He certainly had more than just adoration to give her, think of that what you will.

His gaze did not waver from her, but his body language had raised to mirror hers, almost as though it were all a farce. It was a ploy to see how she would respond, to see how tempered she was or wasn't to his tongue. He did wonder of what her future held; those questions were genuine behind their intent to get a rise out of her.

Destiny? She inquires, her eyes flashing; Those around us make choices they call fate; destiny is for dreamers, Hydra licked her chops. It was true; things were not meant to be, not truly. Hydra had been given nothing freely—not her rank, not her trades, not the fear she had earned from those that were wise to run far, far away after their betrayal. She had worked for it all. 

Hydra's tail lashed behind her. I take, she took a solid step forward. Will you see for yourself? Or will you hear my name in stories, and search for me in strangers? What did he want? What would he do? It was for him to decide; she would take, but she would never force his hand. His path was his own, and she would know if he would align it with hers—and she would not ask it of him, if he could not see it for himself, for he had a sister, too. They were protectors, the two of them.

Perhaps their paths would always mingle, crossing over where it deemed. Perhaps their paths would ricohet wildly, pinballing them to other avenues until they met again full tilt with no credit left, just the inevitable collision at the bottom of another milestone. It was not for them to say, and he did not believe in the essence of destiny. But the world would always have a need of dreamers and that was a category he did not entirely disqualify himself from. The thoughts they both entertained could have been considered dreams.

"Why not both?" he suggested with a smirk. If it were to happen, he believed it would be the thing of stories, the very thing he would see in the faces of strangers; he liked to believe he too would see it come to fruition, if not for her then himself. Perhaps more than anything, he was delighted with her assertiveness then, that rolling tide of ambition he had stirred to the forefront.

It certainty gave him something to think about either way.

The heaviest of the rains began to abate and he shook the moment to shake out his coat, droplets left to fall where they may much like the way he made his plans.

"Perhaps I will give it thought," he decided; only fools rushed in. "I would wager there is time still to make decisions." As it were, they both still had their affairs to sort and that in its own way effectively tied their hands to the present course.

She could not deny the enjoyment she felt at his response. That he might like to see and hear of her both. It would be possible so long as he moved with her, she believed, which was perhaps why she might have enjoyed it half as much as she did. As the ran began to calm, and he shook out his furs, she stepped aside and grinned at him, the expression wholesome and sweet. For now, she hummed, her smile turning playful. It was ultimately up to him what he did with his life; she would not choose for him, as she wanted him to have his freedom in his every choice. 

The sound of the next peal of thunder was distant. Her nose drifted to his cheek, and she said past a sigh: I do hope to see you again, sooner rather than later—under the best of circumstances—before she withdrew and made to depart. Hydra had her family to return to and protect, and no doubt he did, too—she hoped to meet this family member of Dirge's, and was eager to think of the similarities she and Dirge might share.

Their story for now seemed to head towards an inevitable conclusion; the desire that had built in him was left to simmer as he sensed this, as she drew near. For now, seemed promising and he truly hoped it was, never quite the type to go into things entirely blind. He would stay his course and she hers, and whatever became of them would simply happen whether left up to fate or choice.

The touch of her cool nose to his cheek served as reminder of this, though he wished she would linger a spell more at his side. He desired many things in that moment, some unobtainable, but they would come to be left in holding, in wanting. Dirge would continue to temper such things, for their meeting was on chance and he had many things to consider.

As she receded to the timber and out of his sight, he was rhe one left to linger and feel her touch, and wonder. Wonder whether the pursuit was worth it—which for reason he could not explain seemed it was—and whether or not the things at hand would come to resolution. None of such would be swift, nor emotion enough to stir him to act unwisely; her touch began to fade and he was left to turn back towards the place he had come from, wondering of Nyx.

Another tolling peal of thunder resounded as the winds shifted, the storm passing just as it had come. He followed it slowly, destined to linger beneath the boughs until blue sky overtook the road ahead. Beyond it, he would find Nyx, and entertain the thoughts set alight from his encounter.

Hydra would see him again, someday.