Sleeping Dragon Joining

A howl rose through and sliced the frigid air of winter, though the caves inside the dormant volcano the Dragon wolves called home it was warmer, sheltered from the harsh winds and though it might have simply been Gyda's imagination she thought it might actually provide some level of warmth the closer to the forge the caves became. If Ragnar's stories were to be at all believed (and to Gyda there was nothing but truth behind the tales of their Gods and other assorted creatures) there were creatures called 'dwarfs' — like the ones that forged the mighty Möljnir — that resided within caves like this where the lava would burn their forges hot. She had yet to come across such a creature. Occasionally there were bats but despite herself she could not help but believe it to be true and that either they had abandoned the forge within the heart of the Sleeping Dragon or was gifted with invisibility (though she suspected it was the first). 

Or perhaps she was desperate to make a connection between her new home (as to which she was quite fond of) and Ragnar though she did not know if he had ever stepped paw on this territory. She had been exiting one of such caves when the howl had risen and thus made her way to where the loner awaited her. The intent had been made clear in the song that had carried to her. Gyda knew their numbers were swelling and very soon they would reach the maximum number of wolves that they as a pack could support. She was pleased by this knowledge, though. They had grown, though for a starting out pack they couldn't have been precisely called a small pack to begin with. While she had brought Hush with her Thuringwethil had not wasted any time seeing to recruitment during Gyda's trip south. As she approached the loner, her tail high over her back, her posture upright and elegant — leaving no room for doubt as of her rank — the Viking Queen did a double take. For a moment, if not for the size and femininity to the loner at their borders Gyda would have mistaken her for Hush. 

“Hello,” Gyda greeted with a soft authority in her tone, not unwelcoming but not overly kind either. She had watched Ragnar remain stoic upon his borders, though he'd hardly needed any effect of expression. His scars had been his intimidation point; and she found that wolves were more apt to take him seriously than they were she. The last wolf to underestimate her had ended up with his life blood pooling at her paws; but Gyda did not and could not expect anyone to know that. “I am Gyda Loðbrok, the Viking Queen of Sleeping Dragon.” She offered an introduction, first of herself and then of her home, and then fixed her icy caribbean blue gaze upon the loner, expecting her to offer her a name in return.