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

“Yes,” Gyda agreed to Thuringwethil's suggestion of scouting the surrounding territories in the morning. She had been born in these Wilds but these areas were unfamiliar to her. Perhaps she had passed through them with the Priestess as they embarked upon their journey together though her father had thought of it as betrayal. In his defense she hadn't said goodbye but her decision had been last minute and born of the desire to protect Nerian and the babes she would bear. “Hopefully they will offer us sufficient prey through the winter.” It wasn't summer that concerned Gyda but the coldest and harshest time they suffered now when prey was at it's most scarce in the throes of winter.

“You can't tell me what to do,” Gyda speaks with defiance lacing through her accented voice though her smirk insinuates that she is simply jesting with Thurin. The truth was: she was tired. Perhaps emotionally as well as physically. “Scoot over.” Gyda murmured before she settled down beside Thuringwethil despite that there was more than plenty of space. Gyda didn't want space at that moment. She wanted the company (and the body heat). She laid sphinx like against the stone floor, her head lowered so her chin rested against her paws. For a moment she stared at the star littered sky stretched out before them ...or what she could see of it from inside the cave and let her heavy eyelids close to see a flash of blue. An eye so very much like her own and where the other eye should have been a licking flame. It was a wisp nothing solid but it twisted into the shimmering form of a raven and somewhere (though whether it was true or simply her half asleep imagination) she heard a raven cry out and knew that this and Thuringwethil was written in her fate.