Sleeping Dragon her eyes hold thunder and her blood is magma

She does not remember her first summer, but she existed. A babe in the middle, the only one of the litter, taken away from her mother as soon as she had been able. As soon as she had been strong enough to survive away from the sweet milk she does not remember. No one had been younger than her, as Fos Goufa, and the next had only been Seregrýn—a wolf of her own familial blood. It didn’t surprise her that another had—one of her ancestors had battle for Heda in a conclave without surviving—but perhaps it unsettled her. 

The ways of Drageda fit the wolves of the area, wolves that are not like the ones currently following her. Graviel and Seregrýn, but the others have yet to understand. And the others are barely the wolves she recognizes from the beginning. @Hush, and her queen, are the only founders left. @Lorne and @Dio had come early, easily molding themselves into the history she mentally writes. 

Thuringwethil swallows as she looks over the ledge of the pack’s meeting spot, staring across the valley in the early morning light. In such a short span of time, even in the tame land of the teekon, they’ve had to scrap for what they wanted, and while it may not be the same group—as much as she hates to admit it—those that remain were her own. Some would come and go but eventually, she’d find the wolves that understood Drageda. That had Drageda in their blood, even if they didn’t hail from her home. They would come. They would stay. 

She knew Heda would not be satisfied with her decisions, until generations later, when their roots are solid and not even the strongest of wolves could shake her mountain free.

Dawn only brightens by the moment and by now, he's coming to the logical conclusion of this round of the borderland that had come and gone without fanfare. Now, when his paws turn for the higher territory, he begins to consider what he may occupy himself with next. His attentiveness to their boundaries has served as his primary focus, but even they do not warrant constant surveillance from him. He is not the only one upon them, after all, and at any given hour, he can name a handful of the pack that he'd expect to find there. So, he hikes up and sniffs along until anything catches his attention.

It is with a small hint of curiosity that he finds himself pulling along Thuringwethil's trail, and nothing stops him so he follows through until he spots her upon the ledge. He strides lightly into the valley where they meet. Once closer, he chuffs and defers his posture in full, sweeping his tail softly against the inside of his knees and angling back his ears once his neck is lowered considerably -- something he now reserves for only the leadership of the pack at this time, despite knowing the black bear of a female would relish in seeing him slip.

He may not have precise business to attend to in her company, but he may as well see if she would not be bothered by his. "Heda," he greets more properly.

Her nose twitches at the scent, and one ear swivels, but Thuringwethil does not turn around until she hears her title. Even then, it’s several full seconds before she slowly pivots and sees Dio standing nearby. There is still a morning haze draped over the mountain and the large male seems a blur, hidden by a gentle fog, but likely a figment of her imagination as she considers the morning around them.

“Dio,” she says softly, turning her head to look back over the valley. 

She gestures him to come stand next to her. His rise in rank hadn’t gone unnoticed, replacing the long-standing Lucani when she’d become ill. At the time, it had been temporary, giving the position to someone of good health while she recovered, but the betrayal had shaken things up and she doesn’t expect him to give up the title so easily now. He’d gone with her in two different times that could have been a bloodied mess, had held onto his rank despite the challenges on his way up, and for that she sees great promise in the male for their future.

“I am sure you had not expected so much conflict when joining a pack with a new claim,” she muses, when she looks back over the valley and river to their south. The threat is gone and the river had been freed, for now. “But I hope it shows you how strong we are.”

He's watching her carefully in the hazy warmth of the morning light, and nothing to do with her reception of him suggests he leave. Her greeting, then gesture, serve as effective confirmation so without a measure of haste, he takes the chance to come closer. Once there, his sights are pulled from her darkness and across the immediate scene however she does maintain his attentions with at least an ear angled her way.

"Not exactly," he chuffs with the faintest hint of laughter along with the words. He did not know what he had expected, honestly. At the very least, all he had need of then was some place to be until winter waned and he got back on his feet again. The Dragon served well for that and more. His feet were beneath him, firm and steadied, and while he still sorely misses Matteo and the Rise, it is not an constant burden when there's guarding and warfare and a perpetually ongoing list of events to be had. "It's good -- not the conflict itself, necessarily, but the keeping busy and knowing what we can do." It certainly gave him plenty to do, even if did not always understand every intricacies of the matters at hand. "I don't mind." he adds. He certainly likes the sensation of their overall strength.

She's seen, in two instances at least, Dio protect the borders against a trespasser and a fool, and accept he might go to war twice now. The actions of the others aren't minimized in their new gamma's wake but Thuringwethil's comfort in her choice remains. He isn't Lucani's replacement, her settlement into the rank had been different, but Dio's responsibilities alter a little. She'd taken Gavriel back with her to the grotto, knowing she could trust one of her own, but her dependence on her older brother could be set aside with trust in Dio.

“Good,” she says, glancing off to her surroundings. Nothing particular catches her attention, and she rests easily once more on her subject. “Do you have any interest in being more active in Drageda?” she decides to ask, lifting a brow curiously. The entire concept of Drageda separates itself from Sleeping Dragon, the part of her that rules wolves separately, the wolves that follow Heda in whatever they may choose.

Around them, it's quiet. The stillness of the morning remains relatively uninterrupted, so he is at ease, even considering the subject of her question. It is not one he knows enough about to answer definitely yet. He has not yet felt privy to the concept of Drageda in its entirety, and while he understands the gist of its separation from the Dragon because he has seen it in the wolves more familiar with the culture the Heda brings, it is not quite enough to base his choice upon.

Without clear-cut aspirations to gun for, he is mainly interested in anything that could prove advantageous for him. This could be, he suspects now. Many things here so far had gone well for him, so he was open to it. "Perhaps," he answers first with a slow exhale. "I would like to understand more about it.. what it means," he adds, gesturing vaguely with his muzzle since he does not know what else it could entail and hoping she would fill these blanks.

She does not expect Dio to agree right away—it would be foolish—but he does respond in a way she appreciates. He doesn’t decline the offer and instead, reaches out for more. A small smile hints at the corners of her muzzle and she dips her head in a nod, before settling it squarely above her shoulders once more. The wolves she grew up around, learned from, led with, didn’t really have to go through this process. New wolves begging for refuge did, but they didn’t easily acclimate where the wolves surrounding them grew up with it in their bones.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now, even after I tell you, and nor do I expect you to learn everything in one sitting,” she assures him. It’s not likely a decision he could easily make in one sitting.

He’d come to learn what little Drageda has exposed him to since the beginning and the obvious, she sets aside. Their survival and growth is their primary goal—removing all threats that would hinder such things—and chasing off the wolves at the bolder and the phoenixes had merely been a stepping stone. Eventually, the wolves in their far reaches would know of them, of Heda.

“My wolves, for generations, have followed the wolf that housed Heda,” she begins, though it is not necessarily news. Perhaps the concept, but there has always been a difference between herself and the entity she carries. “Not any wolf can be a vessel. It is a Fos Goufa that can receive: the only child born of a litter has a soul intact enough to hold. It is the one that keeps their wolves alive, and prosperous. It is a rare occasion that a wolf selected for Heda to live in—with—that is rejected and often it is because they were never a true vessel. Stillborns will disrupt the connection because the soul is split between them.”

The young leader falls silent then, searching the male's face for clues, to let things absorb, for questions, anything that might direct where she goes next.

HI DON'T MIND ME I GOT RUSTY I GUESS........|:

He's pleased to find she offers him a bit of leniency on the matter, and seems to understand why he cannot be too forward with an answer. He'd like to consider it at least first but he had already placed his loyalty with her without much prefacing once -- which had proven so far to be one of his more decent choices. Maybe it could come just as naturally.

She explains, though, and his attention is rapt. Heda was a familiar enough term, so few surprises followed it. Fos Goufa was a touch more exotic to his ears, but understandable enough -- it was not something that sounded like a frequent occurance. Her elaborations spark several questions and many of them he can't quite find how to word just yet. Somehow, he's also wondering about what sort of dispersal led the Heda here in the first place while simultaneously appreciating that it is a concept that has spanned a good portion of time (from the way she spoke of it). He nods. "What has been the.. goal, I suppose, to following Heda, and what does Heda seek in followers over the generations?" he asks.

It is not often Thuringwethil found herself inviting others into their way, into Heda’s embrace, but it is not often she found wolves that didn’t know who the commander is. Their reaches back home spread wide, between other packs, and they were generations of wolves that had followed since the beginning. How far back it goes, Thuringwethil isn’t sure, but the stories and lore of their people are well memorized. Explaining to an outsider, a non-believer, wasn’t common, but not impossible. Wolves would pass by all the time but only few stayed behind to adapt and merge into their system, which had never been much different than most wolves.

They simply wanted to survive.

“Because Heda does not lead astray,” she says, though it is not proof enough. “It is more than one conversation will give you. The first Heda has always been hard to trace back, over generations of following, things have been skewed, but what we do understand is when Heda had her living form, she’d been a great leader. She won battles among the others and for years kept everyone safe against the odds.

"She told her followers that when she died, she’d select and live within the next commander.” She inhales sharply, thinking about various reactions she’d seen over her time, of those she heard about. Some simply didn’t understand, couldn’t wrap their head around it. “She, and every commander after, have embodied the spirit and is within me now. When I die, and the next is chosen, I will live on in them.”

When she confirms this is not something to understanding in full with one conversation, he understands immediately. Even this is a greater glimpse than he had been ready for, but he takes it in stride and listens on. Maybe it is meant to become a piece of him, too. Since meeting her, he has always felt oddly compelled to become this Heda's part of history anyway.

So the male nods, impressed and thankful to be privy to it.

He has a lot to consider already, but is not sure how to ask onward -- or where this is meant to take him. He will listen if she gives it freely but for now, he is thoughtfully silent.

Dio is quiet for a moment as she pauses and she scans his reaction, though mostly unsure how to read it. Nothing terrible crosses his contemplative features and the worry she might have overloaded him with something eases. What she, and the others, knew to be true might be a stretch to some in the same way she struggles to accept the things Gyda does. She'd had the proper training for handling non-believers, new wolves, that generations of teachings might look like blind faith. They didn't have history courses. They lived it.

"Our training begins when we are young. Combat is important from the beginning," she says, recollecting her childhood days. She'd never been looked at like anything but a warrior, another wolf in the mix of their life. Perhaps because of chosen path she'd lived a slightly different youth. "We have a few rituals but for the most part, we're not much different from anyone else."

It is, for the most part, true. They have primarily relied on strength and brute force for their successes and to get what they want, a reason they have survived as long as they have from the beginning. Their expansion is proof enough that it works, even if they leave a little destruction in their wake.

"Our language is common where we come from and I know it is not here. Most of our warriors know both tongues but you are not required to," she adds. She learned bother growing up, when her development could absorb easily. Set in his ways, she won't force the wolf to know her own. "You can also talk to Gavriel, if you'd like. Perhaps he can give you more insight."

The more he learns, the more he is coming to understand just how small of a glimpse this is. This is a culture ingrained through time, one its newest initiates learn from a tender age it seems. Dio understands. He's known a few variations of societies do something similar. He could see why. It seemed more subtler than some -- not much different than everyone else as she said so herself, and perhaps, therein which was the strength of it.

And, the topic of language is greeted with a new curiosity. He does not find himself overly daunted by the challenge, nor the possibilities it could grant him. While not required, he reasoned a few key phrases could not hurt. If time saw it fit, he could expand from there. "I will," he nodded, not knowing that soon, duty would have Gavriel elsewhere. But, he had a lot to consider now and that was just another.

So when it was right, he offered his parting words and some expression of his appreciation for her time, her words, and otherwise. He would be on his way afterward to contemplate in solitude, which of course left her to carry on as she pleased.