Sleeping Dragon of all the things i left behind, i miss my heart the most

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.