Stavanger Bay was quite a trek from Sleeping Dragon and yet Gyda set out to make it nevertheless. She did not leave Thurin uninformed of her adventure, her fellow queen was made aware of her trip to Stavanger Bay and a stop by Silvertip Mountain to inform Krypton that things had changed and where she could find her should she be up that way. Naturally, Gyda did not mind the travel though she had grown accustomed to being able to return to Thurin within a day or so when she went out hunting or surveying the land surrounding Sleeping Dragon for the best hunting grounds. She wished to see Ragnar's grave once more ...perhaps for a last time. Once Thurin and her began to stake their claim it would be hard for her to escape to the sacred burial ground of her father. She would miss feeling close to him, though she knew it was an illusion of her mind. She associated his ethereal presence with where his corporeal body had been lain to rest but Ragnar was with her. In her heart and memories; and sometimes even in her dreams. She never felt as close to him as she did when she fought, though her fate had long ago been decided by the Gods. Still, she felt Odin's presence and in it: Ragnar's. 

And when she had her first born son (for she was determined to have children) she would name him Ragnar and he would be everything her father had been. Of this, she had herself convinced. A mate was not at the forefront of her mind but she didn't need a mate to have children. Only a male of the appropriate age. But she was getting ahead of herself. There were priorities first: building a home and future with Thuringwethil and the wolves her dark companion had rallied to their rule; and of course Gyda would run her plan by her co-queen when the time drew nearer.

Though Stavanger Bay was free territory these days it still unnerved her to see other wolves traipsing about it at their will and leisure; and it still angered her. This place would always be Gyda's home — just as Odinn's Cove was — always sacred to her. She paused as she moved across the Bay's familiar beaches, hackles bristling when she caught the silhouette of another basking in the descent of the sun to the very edges of the sea. She drew nearer, hackles smoothing back along the elegant curve of her spine only to stop abruptly when recognition began to set in. Her lips curled back from her teeth in a physical warning though whether he'd seen her or not she hardly cared. “Why are you here?” Why a place sacred to me? She did not expect him to know that, but she had not expected (nor wanted) to see hide nor hair of him again for attacking (and potentially hurting?) Thuringwethil.