we live in time

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Searching, still—for so many, but also, for one. The scent of him unlocked such knowing. Hydra chased the wind that carried it, strides lengthening as her pace quickened.

She paused as she found the imprint he had left behind, sniffing at it. Fresh! The relief was too sweet, but Hydra now exercised her patience; the matriarch prowled quietly after him, following the bears trail in a hunters stalk.

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Quietly did she follow, her light-footed stalk leaving no visible trace of her, nor an audible one to note. But it was not her aim to remain out of sight, not once she saw him. She had lost much, and given the time that had passed Hydra ascertained some things she might never return to her.

His own trail was not dissimilar to the ursine beasts that awoke from their winter slumber. The irony is not lost on her, given her own nickname for him, and she is amused. She notes, with a hunters expertise, tufts of his fur and broken debris left in his wake. He did not make it difficult to be found.

And soon, there he is! The mere sight of the bear of a man stirs her heart to beat at a cadence she had not known since Dirge.

She had mourned him. Still, she mourned him. Nothing would keep him from her and their family but for death.

Medvjed reminded her once again that she was very much so alive. And now, at last, she wanted to feel such. She did not wish to waste any more time, not when it was so strange as of late; no, this time, she would make each second count.

She felt young again—her prowling gait transforms into a coltish sort of prance as she draws near to him, going as close as he would permit.

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Hydra presses into him, exchanging her own scent with his own as she circles around him to stand beside him. But she does not step away when done with this, she remains close enough for their furs to mingle. Her ears prick when he speaks, and Hydra tilts her head as she considered his meaning.

“You do not seem the sort to ever waste time,” she hummed with approval, thinking of each encounter with him, and all that she had come to learn. He was a hard worker, a good hunter and protector—strong and fierce. He contributed much in his tenure among them, and she recognized such.

Hydra mulled over the concept of wasted time briefly, finding it aligned neatly with her desire to… to live, to be present. Her children were each strong enough to survive the wilderness without her now.

It was time to rebuild. It was time to regard what stood whole and hale before her.

Hydra leaned forward to brush her nose to his cheek. “I am not either. And I do not intend to start now,” here she withdrew, looking to him—grandmother, yes, but suddenly then, motherhood sprang again to her mind.

But she could not answer for him, or know of his own wish or desire for what his own future might look like. She left him room to speak, to act—even if it were to turn his back upon her gesture.

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Hydra listened to his words, appreciating his candor—no leaving things to mystery. Neither would she. She was not much of a romantic herself, more inclined to appreciate practicality, but instinct also demanded this in of itself be like a hunt. “Court me, then,” she drawled decisively, “and if there if a fight to be had for me this season, you will best them all. Show me,” she moves to nip at his cheek, “and I will be yours,” Hydra guessed that he would.

“And Empyrean will be ours,” she added, moving then to face him. Was he prepared for such? Hydra thought him capable of it—else she would have snapped him away for his bold words.

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