Sleeping Dragon we met over a small earthquake

Thuringwethil's following words made Gyda's pupils narrow in their pools of icy caribbean hued blue as her gaze held steadfast to Heda's face. “And what if they want what I refuse to give them? I do not need a father figure for my children, neither do I wish to take any of them as a mate,” It was not anything personal to the few males Sleeping Dragon was home to; rather it was simply because of her own personal preferences. Yet Gyda could not erase the idea that they would eventually be nothing short of curious of the children they had sired and want to fill the role that she did not not need them for. “I am picky,” She snapped, sure that Thuringwethil would have known that by now. While it was true — only the male capable of meeting her standards would do — there were other reasons as to why she refuted as if they were sharing a debate. Essentially, that was exactly what they were doing: debating. Haggling with one another.

Gyda bristled when Thuringwethil made her threat. Offering to kill her own children for the greater good of Sleeping Dragon, if it were to come to it, was a sacrifice ….but one that Gyda felt she could make. Ragnar had never been gentle with his children, never coddled them and Odinn's Cove had opened Gyda's eyes to the barbarism of Ragnar's culture; of her culture. Sometimes children were killed and sometimes they died young of natural causes on their own — this was a fact of life and one that Gyda accepted. Could she allow Thuringwethil to kill her children? Could she stand idly by? Gyda did not know. “Who do you have in mind?” Because Gyda once prided herself on her diplomatic abilities she begrudgingly inquired as to whom Thuringwethil was thinking; to at the very least hear Heda out.