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

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.”