Sleeping Dragon been half goddess, half hell

Thuringwethil's howl had been alarming to Gyda, whom had been patrolling on the opposite side of the Dragon when Heda's call had risen into the air; it had taken some time to travel across the territory though her gait was as quick as she could make it without full out running. She sensed the urgency even before Lucani's howl rose up for her though by this time Gyda was closer, willing herself to make her pace more rapid. She was not sure what was happening but it hadn't sounded good and Lucani's urgency only made an unbidden anxiousness rise within Gyda's chest as she hurried to where the two women were. All of the worst case scenarios began to play through Gyda's mind, holding her breath as she slowed, coming upon them. 

Thruingwethil was sitting upright ...which Gyda took to assume meant she wasn't on her death bed but it didn't look what Gyda would have considered well. Idly, the viking queen could not help but wonder if the dread and anxiety was something Thistle had felt when Ragnar had came home torn open; it wasn't anything Gyda had ever thought to ask her mother though now she wished she would have. “Thuringwethil,” Gyda's accented voice was barely a whisper. She was used to seeing gruesome wounds — this came along with the territory of being a shield-maiden; Hel she'd seen Berserkers die — but this was, somehow, different. Because Thuringwethil was Thuringwethil and if there was one thing that Gyda could not stand the thought of it was someone she was close to getting hurt or dying.

She'd already lost one that she cared deeply for, she did not want to lose another.

“What has happened to you? Who has done this?” There was volume this time as she presented her inquiries to Heda before she turned her attention to Lucani whom was hard at work. “Will she be ok?” Out of all the questions Gyda had asked thus far that one was the most important to her at the moment.