Stavanger Bay vikings mourn their dead

Krypton, Gyda reminded herself forcibly of the name offered to her by her companion (despite that it sounded strange to Gyda whom had gotten used to Norse-centric names), was respectful when the Viking Queen spoke to her and that was something that Átta greatly appreciated. Too well did she know the frustration of being ignored, or worse yet spoken over because she'd been young when she'd ascended to the throne of the Cove. This was a nice reprieve, especially considering Dagrun was not here to silence any that would be so discourteous to her, though in truth, Gyda hadn't needed him to intervene and had once snapped at him for it. She could handle her own, she always had, had a remarkable talent for it. Which was perhaps why she'd chosen to accompany the pregnant priestess as she fled the Bay, scared of that the life that had begun to grow within her womb would be in jeopardy if she stayed. Not by Ragnar, of course, and while Nerian had never came right out and admitted it Gyda suspected there was fear of Thistle's wrath. 

To Gyda's perplexity, the broad female lowered herself in a bow and humbled herself with flattering words of “royalty”. Interestingly enough, Gyda had scented a pack upon the woman's fur, and thus the submission (whether it was simply meant out of respect or not) baffled the Viking Queen. “Why do you bow to me?” Gyda inquired, though in a way Krypton had already explained why. Something to do with honor and royalty. “You follow the rule of another,” The Scandinavian woman spoke, her confusion evident even through the weight of her accent. “My father's achievements are his own.” Gyda did not thrive off of Ragnar's legacy — no. She made her own legacy (despite how similar it was to Ragnar's own start).