Sleeping Dragon spread my spirit like a flock of crows

This day heralded a clear victory; not just for the viking queen. It was her victory and yet just as it belonged to her it belonged to Thuringwethil, whom stood at her side but also to the wolves whom had pledged their loyalty to their Queens. Their wolves who would raise their voices to join their own: in warning and in celebration. Their claim was palpable, it was as strong as any blade. They were small but they were strong. Gyda silently acknowledged her companion's knowing look. It was time. Excitement coursed through her veins like electricity and when Thurin's voice lifted to the heavens of Midgard so, too, did Gyda's own. 
 
As the voices rose into unison, a collective of all of their efforts, she felt an un-measurable swell of pride in them — even the ones she did not know well yet.; unable to help the sly and errant wonder if Ragnar would be proud of her...that she had accomplished what none of his sons had been able to.