It is revolution that walks on four paws, with traces of destruction left in her wake. A burden she no longer has to bear once she’s shed the skin of her youth. Thuringwethil, even with sore feet and aching limbs, feels weightless from what she’s leaving behind. Her paws stained with blood of her people do not deter her while she moves. Her travels are primarily hidden by shadows, leaving her cloaked in darkness as she escapes the society she’s only known but forced to go, a decision so easily made she’d be slaughtered otherwise.

Thuringwethil turns her nose up, the sky dark. The stars do not shine through and she cannot see the moon in its glory but a haze trying to power through the barrier that keeps her hidden. The base of the mountain offers an overhang, protecting her from what little light is left of the night fighting to stay seen. 

The girl closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. The air is cold, her lungs numb to the intake, and only holds it a few seconds. She stops when her feet hit stone instead of snow and sits, easing herself into the shadows. In just a few hours, day break will begin and her travel would begin to slow but the need to travel does not linger in the back of her mind. Hidden in the depths, settling into the cave she’d found to rest her weary body, Thuringwethil leans into the cold stone that keeps her enveloped from sight. 

She rests her eyes, only for a moment, with a name faint on her lips.

Her eyelids are not heavy but she drifts to sleep anyway. A light slumber that her skin twitches at any stimulus and her ears remain erect. The scent of another tickles her nose but reminds hidden, on the tip of her tongue to be swallowed. Her mind tilts backward, unsure of the dream or actual wave of reality over her. She teeters forward, watching it unfold before her: a figure growing bigger the closer it gets and features she can only see in the faint reflection of the cave. Eyes she remembers as blue remain faint and dull and the urgency creep into her paws.

She hears her name and one ear swivels, confused, and her eyes slowly open all the way to the monochromatic creature before her. Her toes ache cold and she knows reality won over with no threat on the horizon.

“You always see me, sváss,” she groggily purrs and raises an eyebrow, hoping the woman would come closer. A familiar face so far from home would bring dread into her heart but Gyda’s does not fill her with acid. What tension had frozen between her shoulders eases as she takes the first step and picks herself up. Thuringwethil takes a few careful steps forward, resisting the urge to hurl forward into her embracing scent.

Thuringwethil blended in well with the shadows that worked to encompass her, and if not for the strength of her scent Gyda might have very well considered the fact that she'd simply imagined the other woman's silhouette against the shadows of the cave she'd found. Gyda was unfamiliar with this particular territory but she was grateful she had found her way here, nevertheless; and not just because it offered shelter from the buffering and frigid winds. Though to say that she expected to see Thuringwethil in Teekon, would be a lie. Driven by her haunting dreams of her father — dreams that while gone left her feeling more restless in their absence — she had not had much time for goodbyes, though when she had left Odinn's Cove she had anticipated to return. She had not expected to find here what she did: Stavanger  Bay and Ragnar abandoned. For reasons Gyda could not quite puzzle out yet knowing these things made her realize that she needed to stay — not that she had any true idea of why she felt that way other than she trusted Dagrún to run the Cove and lead it towards the greatness Ragnar had once had it.

Gyda discerned the movement of the other woman's ear in her direction and then her eyes slowly begun to open revealing gray colored irises. “auðvitað,” Gyda murmured to the other woman watching as she rose and took a few steps closer, a soft warmth spreading to her cheeks when she heard the endearment term come from the other woman in a purl. “It is hard for me not to see you,” The Scandinavian spoke mirroring the steps the darker woman, drawing closer and eliminating the distance that had been between them previously. When she was close enough Gyda pressed her muzzle into the other woman's neck in an embrace and greeting. “I did not think to see you here,” Gyda confessed, heavily accented voice soft. “What has happened? Are you well?” The viking queen asked into the fur of her companion, pulling back on slightly so that she might take in Thuringwethil's face once more.

Thuringwethil does not have to wait for long when Gyda presses into the curve of her neck and shoulder, turning her own head to meet her snow-filled fur. The dark she wolf takes a deep breath and holds the scent she hadn’t had in months, reminding her of a time far easier when they both had their own coalition and wolves that would die for them. Now, two strangers reuniting without the responsibility weighing on their shoulders. A gift to her, but Thuringwethil did not see the same revelation in Gyda’s shadow-hid features.

“Your absence was greatly missed,” she says into the tinges of dusty fur as Gyda moves back a step or two. She’s within reach but a simple stretch of her muzzle but the coolness between them stagnates. Grey eyes trail up the length of the woman’s muzzle, resting up high. Her hardened and pointed features soften, a delicate hold of her gaze. The words pile up behind her teeth and she bites them back down, swallowing the lump hardened in her throat. 

The dark woman glances over Gyda’s shoulder, shattering what little doubt remained the other might have brought her way. Her a stony tone, she clears her throat:  “Seageda is no more.”

The quietude of their embrace was not one that Gyda felt had to necessarily be defined by words but she pulled away slightly so break the silence nevertheless. Her curiosity was almost as dangerous as her ambition; both a mirror of Ragnar's own. Though it had been told the Jarl and his Àtta shared no blood Gyda refused to believe it then, and further now. Thistle had explained that Gyda looked much like her grandfather — Thistle's father — but the stubborn Queen would hear no more speak of such things. She was Ragnarsdottir. Crete had never existed to her beyond a name and thus she refused to believe that she had not came from Ragnar's own loins. Perhaps his death had solidified what she'd wanted to believe ever since her and her brothers were told the truth but it was what she chose to accept as truth regardless of how anyone attempted to convince her otherwise. Her father had believed that they made their own fate, but Gyda felt that her fate had been decided by the Gods long ago. She only wished that her fate would have seen Ragnar into the very stretches of old age.

Her heart fell heavy when Thuringwethil spoke, despite that Gyda had never been apart of Seageda. That didn't matter, in the end; and in some way Gyda sympathized. Odinn's Cove was in no danger of ceasing to be, not with Dagrún at it's helm, but she too had suffered great and personal tragedy. “I am so sorry,” Gyda pressed closer again, not asking for permission. “You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to, but how did it happen?”

After giving Thuringwethil time to either explain or decline explaining Gyda inhaled deeply and let it out. “I understand the pain,” Gyda struggled to find the translation, struggling with the words she did not wish to voice aloud. “My home here is gone,” She paused taking in a sharp breath. She had done her weeping but it still hurt. “My father has gone to Valhalla, I found his grave in the territory that had once been my home.” Her mother was still alive (the scents that carried Thistle's own told her that), and presumably her brothers too but she did not know where, yet. “I cannot return to Odinn's Cove.” Though Dagrún deserved to know of his half brother's death, she could not bring herself to leave these Wilds, not now. Possibly not ever.

“Don’t apologize,” Thuringwethil assures her. She’s able to stand here tonight at ease with her decision, that the fall of Seageda did not weigh her down, but the blood shed resulted from it clung to her. The corruption through her hierarchy had eaten away at her, removing everyone from their seat and leaving entirely. That wolves she thought she lived for, trained in battle with, no longer belonged to her and nor she them. The few that understood got away easily, found their own new beginnings, but the rest did not end and they fell entirely.  “I emptied the ranks of my leaders and left. It had to be done.”

Gyda’s words were kind, though, as she moved on to the things she found here. The death of her father and the new reality she would have to face. Thuringwethil frowns and leans in for another embrace, knowing well enough Gyda does not need her support but it is there for the taking. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs quietly, nudging the woman’s nose before she settles back a step. A familiar face isn’t the end of the world and she’s sure she wouldn’t have ended up here otherwise, so she feels the desire to protect.

“Make your own home,” she pauses, giving only a moment for it to settle, “with me.”

Thuringwethil assured the silver shield-maiden that her apology wasn't needed and explained that she had purged her leaders, and the tone in the ebon woman's voice spoke that there had been no other choice for her. This, Gyda understood. She had not been a leader when she challenged Váli to the duel for his rank knowing that it would either be his life or hers, but she had heard what the wolves of Odinn's Cove had to say, that Ragnar's once dearest friend had been exiled to Freyja's Moor simply because Floki had been perceived as a threat, that until that point he had thought to rise up against the youngest of Eitrissons. The Vikings did not fear much but Váli had proven that his leadership skills were that of Björn's own: not anywhere up to par with Eitri and Ragnar's. It was not hard to earn the Cove's support — though out of them all it was Dagrún whose advice had helped her the most. Their laws, though, were clear: it was a fair fight between the two of them and no amount of support from the wolves would garner her any help. Váli had been older, more experienced but his cunning could not match Gyda's and she had ruthlessly used his weakness against him. His ability to easily underestimate her as a woman had greatly been her aid and partnered with Ragnar and Dagrún's training had won her the fight. It had been corruption that had led her to do it, knowing that the Cove deserved a better leader than the one they'd gotten stuck with. “It was corruption, then?” Gyda partially inquired. She suspected it was what had driven Thurngwethil to such great and perhaps costly measures; but did not dwell upon it long. Her friend was here, and she was alive. That was all that mattered now.

Gyda sighed softly into Thurin's embrace, relishing in the silent support it offered. Just because she was strong (most of the time) didn't mean she did not appreciate knowing that she had it. Her facade had broken when she had come to the conclusion that it was Ragnar that was gone from the corporeal world (for surely Stavanger Bay would not be abandoned any other way). Gyda had never expected Ragnar to die ...despite that she knew he was not as immortal as he had once seemed to her. As a small child she had fancied Ragnar as the God Oðinn himself. Tall, scarred, mysterious and powerful, and as all children think of their parents seemed to have the answer to everything. In the end, even legends could bleed. Even legends could die. “Thank you Thurin,” Gyda whispered leaning in after the darker woman nudged her nose to place a kiss upon the side of her muzzle. A rare albeit affectionate gesture from Gyda.

Thuringwethil's following words echoed what Gyda had been subconsciously planning all along. Make her own home; and while she had once intended to reclaim Stavanger Bay for her own so that Ragnar's legacy might live on in what she built she backed off the idea when she realized that The Sentinels had been claimed — though it had not been their claim that had made her change her mind. She had no problems fighting for what she wanted and she had been fully prepared to chase them away from lands that belonged to her family but was disarmed at the scent of young babes carried by a few of them along their borders. Gyda was no mother (not yet anyhow) but she was nearing the age in which she would be able to bear children and she was finding her maternal instincts to be slowly coming to life. She could not fight them, nor attempt to chase them from their home. Not while there were young ones. She could be ruthless but she was not that hard-hearted.

Caught up in her contemplation she almost did not catch the last bit of Thuringwethil's offer, though as the words sunk the silver shield-maiden's brow furrowed for a moment before they made sense and she thought about it, though in truth her answer required no thought. She trusted Thuringwethil with her life and thought that their cultures were truly not so different. “I will.” Gyda agreed with a firm nod.

Thuringwethil nods her head to the suspicion. There were few wolves by her side at the end that she could trust and even they hurt in the decision. The dark woman couldn’t take the chance, striking away from the lands while the remainder fault. She’d not been caught by any and she doubts they even noticed she’d disappeared as soon as she did. It gave her enough time between her former home and now that they would lose the trail along the way. In the meantime, she’d gather her bearings and find somewhere else to be.

Starting somewhere new has been in her future but just how, she’s unsure. Joining another pack would take time. To be beneath another would not work, her spirit a leader. She remembers the day it came to her, giving Seageda to her paws, and even without it the spirit remained. Only in her death would it pass to someone else to take what she led. If there is nothing to control, where it would go from there she had no idea.

Gyda agrees, however, and a smile forms on her features. The other’s affection against her muzzle remains hot on her skin and she has not forgotten the longing looks she’d hold when together with the woman. Their time together became infrequent once they’d taken reign of their wolves but it put little of a wedge between them. Combing themselves together for others would be a challenge, even if their cultures were similar. Thuringwethil’s matriarchal view on society may alter for Gyda’s, even though the other is no stranger to leadership.

“Good.”

“There is no one else I would rather have beside me,” Gyda admitted. She had seen Thuringwethil lead her wolves, just as the other had seen Gyda lead (even if Gyda had implored the help of her half uncle). Admitting that she did not know everything hadn't been a bad thing, Gyda had reasoned, knowing her strengths and weaknesses would only help her become the leader she aspired to be. A leader like Ragnar had been. Gyda had never considered two women leading together as co-alpha's ...at least not until this very moment but she couldn't say that she was not fond of the idea. In her culture men and women were, generally, equals. She knew this to be different for Thuringwethil but Gyda did not particularly see this as being trouble. Nerian had told her that women made better rulers, for her pack consisted of nearly all women, though they were peaceful and not at all fighters. Nuns, or Monks. Gyda could not recall the correct word for it, though she assumed it was something along the lines of those words. The Gods smile on brave women, and for once Gyda felt the power of that statement. 

Naturally, the two women had their work cut out for them but in honesty Gyda wouldn't have it any other way. Joining a pack ...even the one her mother had joined and being anything less than the Queen she had become hadn't really been much of an option for the Scandinavian. “There is much to be done then,” Despite that Gyda knew Thuringwethil did not need a reminder. Mostly, she spoke it aloud simply to help her organize her thoughts which seemed to be jumping into some mass chaos of everything they needed to get together before they could begin recruiting to their cause. “We will need a place for our new home, I would suggest Stavanger Bay but...,” She gave pause to inhale deeply and let it out in a sigh. “A pack has claimed a forest that touches it's southern reaches, while this would not normally prick my hesitancy,” For Gyda could be as ruthless as the Vikings were known to be. “I smell mother's milk and what I assume to be the scents of babes carried upon the scents of their borders. As much as I want that land my maternal instincts will not allow me to bring war to them.” Not with the babes. She couldn't do it and she felt weak for it; though Gyda had yet to learn that her maternal instincts were anything but weak.

Thuringwethil had been the sole commander of her wolves that followed her. Leading side by side with another would be a test, putting her trust in the woman on trial, but she can’t think of another she trusted more. Seageda turned belly up, what little trust she had left were nothing but blood dripping from her fangs that night. If anything, Gyda had been a constance in her growth, even if infrequent at times, and she’d learned much from the woman.

“Stavanger Bay is your fathers,” she reminds her. 

They needed a fresh start, something that is their own for their cultures to merge. Their similarities would shine, wolves would die for them, and their differences would give them rebuilding and growth. 

“It has been days since I’ve come across another claimed land, let us explore,” she tells her, though the urgency is not locked in her voice. She doesn’t know about the pack to the south west of where they stand but she’s enjoyed the quietness she’s come into these territories. It is several hours before day breaks. Even with things they needed to do, if it were just them, they could not accomplish much. “There is a forest north of here and this mountain wouldn’t be too unfamiliar for me,” she muses.

“I know,” Gyda responded to Thurin's observation. It was for that very reason that Gyda had wanted Stavanger Bay in the first place. It was where her father had built a home and it was where his corporeal body had been lain to rest though he feasted and trained alongside Oðinn and Freyja and her Valkyries now. She was desperate for anything to have to hold onto Ragnar, not quite coming to the terms that her memories locked away in her heart was all she would need. For now, this is not enough for her, for now she strives for anything because she would have given anything to have him back even if for an hour. It is impossible and it is something that she understood; still she wished.

“Then why don't we claim this, then?” Gyda inquired with a cant of her head. She had once envisioned claiming Ravensblood (for it was significant to Ragnar) but for the same reason she could not claim Stavanger Bay an issue had presented itself there, too. The pack that Krypton hailed from was close to touching (if not touching) some of it's borders. Though there was a towering peak between them it was too close and Gyda knew her territorial behavior wasn't content with that. Thurin was right even if Gyda was a bit reluctant to admit it. They needed a fresh start — a place away from other packs where her territorial tendencies would not cause issue with neighbors. “Unless you want to shop around.” For now, her heart had been left in the Bay at the roots of the ash tree her father was buried beneath, and perhaps a part of her would always wish to return.

Still she turned her attention to the proverbial horizon and to the future and home that Thurin and her would build together be it here on this mountain or to a different territory.

Thuringwethil nods her head when Gyda suggests the mountain. She’d only been here a few hours in the night. The morning they could inspect the rest of it but she doesn’t see why it wouldn’t work. “We should scout out the surrounding areas though, in the morning,” she offers with a shake of her tail. Their homes had formerly been on the sea but Seageda had its own rocky terrains, waves splashing one side of the mountain she called her home. 

“But here it is.”

She shifts her weight, lowering herself back down to the cool stone floor of the cave. If something popped up to their attention in days to come, they could continue their search. In the meantime, Thuringwethil’s sure she’s far enough away from her home to once again re-stake claim and her spirit would be satisfied. “It isn’t long before day break. Get some rest. We’ll search tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Gyda agreed to Thuringwethil's suggestion of scouting the surrounding territories in the morning. She had been born in these Wilds but these areas were unfamiliar to her. Perhaps she had passed through them with the Priestess as they embarked upon their journey together though her father had thought of it as betrayal. In his defense she hadn't said goodbye but her decision had been last minute and born of the desire to protect Nerian and the babes she would bear. “Hopefully they will offer us sufficient prey through the winter.” It wasn't summer that concerned Gyda but the coldest and harshest time they suffered now when prey was at it's most scarce in the throes of winter.

“You can't tell me what to do,” Gyda speaks with defiance lacing through her accented voice though her smirk insinuates that she is simply jesting with Thurin. The truth was: she was tired. Perhaps emotionally as well as physically. “Scoot over.” Gyda murmured before she settled down beside Thuringwethil despite that there was more than plenty of space. Gyda didn't want space at that moment. She wanted the company (and the body heat). She laid sphinx like against the stone floor, her head lowered so her chin rested against her paws. For a moment she stared at the star littered sky stretched out before them ...or what she could see of it from inside the cave and let her heavy eyelids close to see a flash of blue. An eye so very much like her own and where the other eye should have been a licking flame. It was a wisp nothing solid but it twisted into the shimmering form of a raven and somewhere (though whether it was true or simply her half asleep imagination) she heard a raven cry out and knew that this and Thuringwethil was written in her fate.