Bramblepoint my seat is leather,

Alive. Alive. 

Hydra mourned, Hydra thrilled—

His life, his death, they were hers. It could be the only reason he lived and breathed still. Raven's cubs survived, though he had assaulted her while they were within her. Galaxy was dead. He had seen it through; she, in turn, would see the very same end for him. Her face would be the last thing he ever saw. The face of Alya. The face of Lyra. 

He took his aunt, she learned. They had all asked for this, she knew. A chance for him to survive. Not my brother. Not my friend. Look what kindness created. A monster. Such things were before Tegan's time, and she felt for him. Hydra felt perhaps she ought to have killed him then, long ago. It would have been easy, and so much could have been avoided...

But the world made witches out of strong women, and burned them. Hydra's heart had always known this. Once, when she was younger, she had cared—now she knew she could withstand the flames, swallow them, spit them back out, destroy. 

So, he had a captive, or once did. And then he brought mention of a man she knew well, and Hydra rumbled deeply. Out, or in? Did he flee the Woods, or run deeper into it? It had been noble, to help Tegan; perhaps he sought the aunt Tegan mentioned. Hydra summoned @Lyra to her side with an ear flick, so that her sister could assess the damage Tegan sustained. He did not look well, not in the least bit, and while Hydra listened, she sorted through what next ought to be done.