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

this post is kind of all over the place and sucks. :/

The quietude of their embrace was not one that Gyda felt had to necessarily be defined by words but she pulled away slightly so break the silence nevertheless. Her curiosity was almost as dangerous as her ambition; both a mirror of Ragnar's own. Though it had been told the Jarl and his Àtta shared no blood Gyda refused to believe it then, and further now. Thistle had explained that Gyda looked much like her grandfather — Thistle's father — but the stubborn Queen would hear no more speak of such things. She was Ragnarsdottir. Crete had never existed to her beyond a name and thus she refused to believe that she had not came from Ragnar's own loins. Perhaps his death had solidified what she'd wanted to believe ever since her and her brothers were told the truth but it was what she chose to accept as truth regardless of how anyone attempted to convince her otherwise. Her father had believed that they made their own fate, but Gyda felt that her fate had been decided by the Gods long ago. She only wished that her fate would have seen Ragnar into the very stretches of old age.

Her heart fell heavy when Thuringwethil spoke, despite that Gyda had never been apart of Seageda. That didn't matter, in the end; and in some way Gyda sympathized. Odinn's Cove was in no danger of ceasing to be, not with Dagrún at it's helm, but she too had suffered great and personal tragedy. “I am so sorry,” Gyda pressed closer again, not asking for permission. “You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to, but how did it happen?”

After giving Thuringwethil time to either explain or decline explaining Gyda inhaled deeply and let it out. “I understand the pain,” Gyda struggled to find the translation, struggling with the words she did not wish to voice aloud. “My home here is gone,” She paused taking in a sharp breath. She had done her weeping but it still hurt. “My father has gone to Valhalla, I found his grave in the territory that had once been my home.” Her mother was still alive (the scents that carried Thistle's own told her that), and presumably her brothers too but she did not know where, yet. “I cannot return to Odinn's Cove.” Though Dagrún deserved to know of his half brother's death, she could not bring herself to leave these Wilds, not now. Possibly not ever.