Moonspear blood [m]oon rising

Hydra considered his words, and grew frustrated. It had not been sound thought that caused them to come, and almost irately, she snapped: perhaps not here. I do not know, addled, muddled, she pressed against him. Again she thought of her mother and what she had spoken of when it came to her father, and it was that she had sought to hear from him now. Nevermind the uncertainties; from this point, on, could they not rise to any occasion set before them? Was he not ready to be by her side for the best, and the worst? 

The uncertainties he did not like were now what she held onto, and despite her unwillingness to do so, and her desire to yield and submit to this desire, perhaps she might have been wrong to consider him the one who might rule an empire alongside her. The doubts had emerged once with Alya's own tongue, and unwittingly came back to life when she looked into the emerald eyes of @Rian—

Was all of this for her to realize she may have been wrong in her choice? She was not certain, and her tongue rolled with her temper as she ground out: nothing in life is certain, that was what excited her. Tides shifted and turned; she moved with and against them as she pleased, each time to her benefit. Her judgment was clouded in this moment as to where she might wish to lay the foundation of the empire they had spoken of, but she knew her mother would not settle for such indecision—

She could not do so, either. 

For her own part, Hydra did not see or hear her words as conspiratory; she imagined it might very well be what her parents had made her for. All of her life was leading to this, was it not? Time would tell where her ambition would lead; could she turn her fangs upon her mother? She did not believe it would ever come to that. 

And so she removed herself from his person, blazing, seeking to escape his company lest his silver tongue reel her in, but perhaps in knowing what he knew he would not seek to. She had laid her cards out for him to see, though one remained ever-hidden, as was her way. Uncertainty, after all, was what she thrived within. Again, emerald eyes seemed to flash before her, and they were not her mothers. 

Worthy. What was worthy? Hard to tell; hard to know. She moved without stealth but with ample conviction; one backward turned ear would reveal she might listen, were he to call, but she felt her heart break at the thought that the man she had nearly placed above them did not yet seem prepared for better, or for worse. But she had no time to waste, instinct told her. Her tongue slipped past her lips as she began to pant, her stride not lengthening but neither did it slow down.