The Heartwood i'm faithless now though we win

His first set of words caused her to blink. What? What did that have to do with her asking him what it was he had fled from...? And, at his conclusion, her eyes drifted to look beyond him. She confirmed what he said and what she saw: it was nothing. 

Except Hydra felt she knew otherwise, and her epiphany dawned on her moments later. And it was not his leaving that was her grievance with him, but who he had elected to follow. Two beasts fought within Hydra, each as fierce as the other in their battle. Her pride, versus her desire to know if she was right—in the end, the second won out, as it would inevitably feed her pride, something he had done damage against effortlessly. It was time to retrieve it from him. 

He was terribly thin, now, thinner than the last time—but she had no sympathy. He said it himself: he had left her. 

You look as though food is your worst enemy, she observed, and yet, you exert yourself to near exhaustion. I do not want your problem to become my problem, she expressed, so tell me: what has you in such a rush? Famine? A plague? she pressed. She did not think it unfair to ask, to be absolutely certain for the sake of her family—but the rush of words was meant to confound, to break open any walls there might be... although she presumed he had not rebuilt as she had, since he seemed ever keen on inspecting her own each encounter they had. It could not be fire, it was a thing without scent, and neither was it sickness, as she felt no aversion toward him other than her typical vexation.