Neverwinter Forest Silent Night

Night had stolen over the Wilds quickly, sooner than Gyda had initially anticipated coupled by the light snow that had begun to fall at some point in the day. She had spoken her goodbyes to Krypton though she did not believe it to be the last time she would see the Silvertip female. For now, though, it could be some time for Gyda believed that once Sleeping Dragon was established and Thurin and her staked their claim upon the land that her time traveling would be limited. She hadn't seen Ragnar travel outside of Stavanger Bay's borders, unless it was an exception. There were some things that her father preferred to handle on his own than let it to a messenger. Gyda had admired this about him the most: he stood by his actions and accepted the consequences of them; and when he felt it was a matter that a leader should handle he went into the fray alone and wholly unafraid. Perhaps this absence of fear had made him seem to be invincible as she'd always believed him to be as a child. He had survived many fights, won many battles, had endured the pain of the intentional scars to prove his devotion to the Gods. These laws she held to when she had claimed her title as Drottning in Odinn's Cove and it was these that she would uphold in Sleeping Dragon. He inspired her still, always. 

The Scandinavian had sought the shelter of Neverwinter Forest, shielded from the biting wind and snowfall by the towering wintergreen's that stood like a fortress against the harsher elements. She did not know if she would linger here through the night. She wished to return to Thurin and Sleeping Dragon but she had to weigh if that choice was wise. The snowfall was light yet and these woods offered some shelter from the elements but it could pick up and strand her. Her decision was up in the air as she made her way through the forest, towards it's heart, pausing only when she heard a strange noise. Ears of silver velveteen cupped forth as the guard hairs along her spine bristled with unbidden caution. Curious, she followed the noise and soon came across what was, initially a comical scene to her. A wolf — the scent told her that he was a mix but it mattered little to her — had his head in what appeared to be a hollowed out log and the scent of raccoon told her that it was not a vacant one. A soft laugh escaped the viking queen's lips, amused.

“Do you need help?” The shield-maiden teased ever so slightly in her accented voice, letting her presence be known if her chuckle hadn't given her away; though her request had, in and of itself been serious.