Ghost Lion Crag In the hall of the mountain king.

You will, she concurred with a sweep of her tail, thrilling at the thought. Hydra recalled the blind Fen, then, having very nearly forgotten her. She might be difficult to look out for, but Hydra would if ever she was near to the girl and help was needed. Hydra would need to practice fighting and navigating with her eyes closed, she decided already. Please do, she drawled, eyes brightening at the thought. Things were far from settled, but when they were Hydra hoped that Towhee would come if able. She was equally glad to hear that her daughters blindness would not hinder her from travel; it ought not to, she thought. Perhaps her nose acted as her eyes. 

As Towhee echoed the girls name, Hydra nodded. And then Hydra began to describe the youth to her, as Hydra recalled, thinking of the tooth that seemed to ever peek out beyond her lip and the tip of her tail that looked as though it were dipped in ash. Hydra considered Towhee's statement about hope; she was not wrong, after all. But Hydra was a woman who did not allow herself to feel the fickle thing any longer—hope never helped her, after all, and the hurt she felt when hope died with whatever else caused her to feel such a thing was not one Hydra could stand to endure any longer. 

And with or without it, hope, life still went on. It did not hinder her any. Still, the sentiment behind Towhee's words was well-meaning, and Hydra knew it. So after she described the missing girl to Towhee, Hydra looked to Towhee and said in earnest: thank you. For everything; all that she had done for her, spoken to her; all that she might ever do. Somehow, knowing Towhee was there bolstered the Ostrega; made these terrible things a little easier to bear.