Firefly Glen Feeling eternal, this pain is an illusion

Hydra had left the children in the hands of pack today; they were to learn more independence, and Hydra was invigorated by her own freedom, however temporary. She marked her lands clearly, and stalked beyond them. Any wolf too near to Moonspear was forced away by tooth and claw; she came upon Vengeance not as immaculate and well-groomed as she oft was, but covered in rainmurk and blood—not a lick of it her own. Fox, coyote, even wolf had suffered the consequence of coming too close. And her energy was far from expended; all yielded to her iron will, saw within her eyes that she would accept nothing but their yielding to her will, or their death. She was not at all unlike Vengeance, in the simplest of ways here and now; she had been called a monster in name, and was one in soul too perhaps. 

Motherhood softened some, but it served to make her even more savage in nature. As the rain misted above, Hydra thought she caught wind of another. Fortunately he was not too near for her to consider him an immediate threat, but this was very much so her Wilderness. The Glen she knew as well as she knew Moonspear, each hillock and every divet in the earth she had encountered in her years. She paused, presenting herself as nonthreatening with a cursory sniff of the air—but her gaze suddenly fell to him, sharp and dark. Her ears pricked, and the aristocratic bitch wondered if he might come nearer, or else be on his way.