Moonspear BWP5—siren

As they moved in silence together, Hydra listened. There was, for a time, nothing but the sounds of their quiet footfalls and the moaning wind. But that did not last for very long; one backturned ear caught the beginnings of his labored breathing, which to start with would not incapacitate him. To continue for much longer though certainly would; having been there herself, she (figured she) knew what would likely occur next: his vision would soon begin to spot and his movements clumsier for it. From there it would be a quick downward spiral, and though the crueler part of Hydra wanted him to understand the consequence of not respecting his limits and what reckless behavior could yield by having him experience it firsthand, today was not the day for such a lesson. 

So mere moments after her observation of it, Hydra chuffed to him to alert him of the change in their trajectory before she moved to guide them back. They had not made it too terribly far, but Hydra had not suspected that they would today. In comparison to him, her own breathing was steady, slow—but she had not arrived to this point in a day. Hydra said nothing, yet; uncertain as to how the altitude may have effected his mind as it had his breathing, she would wait to do so until he caught his breath. She would wait until she saw he understood they would be turning back before moving, and she would not push their pace downward any (not wanting to exert him further than she had); it would be entirely counterproductive, she knew, to rush anything. Her tail was lax and swayed behind her to relay her mood, which had not shifted; there was no trace of disappointment upon her, and only when she saw that he had understood they would be heading back would Hydra begin her descent, listening to his breathing all the while so as to know where he was in his recovery.