Moonspear Every occasion, know I'm ready for the funeral

Hydra listened in complete silence, ever still even as her mate drew alongside her. She could sense the disquiet around her, and understood it entirely. For her own part, she felt no measure of unease. The Saints lay their cards on the table before her, asking for a foothold somewhere so as to not go careening towards their death. Their terms were tentative, but Hydra had plenty to say about that. 

Near here? No, she started with, voice dark. If he thinks to settle anywhere near my door, he will find the place to be his final resting place as well. He has threatened too many, done too much, to be allowed that much now, came her smooth voice. Hydra did not think that many would come to visit his grave but to piss on it and to chew on the bones left there. And as for him being a good man? Hydra knew better than that. They all did, except for Valour. But Valour was not a good man, either, just as she was not a good woman. Like often called to like. In any event, Neverwinter was near too, and they had posed a threat to them; Hydra would allow none of that to happen further, having already seen a Saint skulk the wilderness for information on their band. Too many young children there, and here, for her to allow them that room. 

Drawing in a quiet breath, Hydra's ear flicked as her mate requested he shed a brighter light on incidents past. For her own part, Hydra hardly cared for the method behind the madness—only the madness. And that was what Donovan was; a madman. And those sort were so very predictable. Still, it added some sense of thrill to be had... if only she could determine whether their bone to pick with Ursus was truly real or not. Oh, for Valour it was she knew; but they, Ursus and the Saints, had been allies. Attacking one wolf had ended that all... two madmen, not one, and one mute. 

Hydra's mind lingered on that mute. Women were far more clever than men. It was @Astara (nameless, to the matriarch) that Hydra estimated was the greatest threat of all; no doubt, she swayed the man that led them more than any other... And it seemed to her that the Saints despised the mute as much as she did. 

That much, Hydra could work with.

All this she thought on in silence, letting Valour continue to say his piece while she determined what the best course to take in this was. On one hand, they could be rid of the Saints—on the other, Ursus, but with the assistance of the Saints. Some who might die in the battle, causing numbers to dwindle for natural causes. A pity. Easier to take care of them this way too, though, should the Saints continue their nonsaintly path... 

And she also found in her the desire to meet with this Donovan. Unsound, unsafe—proverbially muzzled by her own dirty, calloused hands that would come to offer him several bones should he be a good dog. And a bullet through the head should he be a bad one. 

No commands or futher words, yet. She wanted to give Dirge room to decide too, and respected his moment on the floor as she mulled things over with not a single indication given to the thoughts that shifted throughout her mind.