Sleeping Dragon Fire

The brute called Warbone addressed her with politeness in his gruff voice, low and deep as it was; and as her body relaxed she noted that so, too, did his. His observation was not a strange one to the shield-maiden and coquettishly, the viking queen smiled as if she had a great secret. Warbone was not the first to make such a thing known — truly as if she was not aware of her feminine and petite stature; though admittedly, in all fairness, she tended to forget at times — and was hardly the first, nor would he be the last the suspected, to find it unimpressive. Nevertheless, the valkyrie was not insulted by it (though as a young girl she would have undoubtedly been very insulted by it). “Do not let my stature fool you,” Gyda warned him slyly, a playful rise to her muzzle as it lifted slightly, though her eyes glinted with the sincerity of her words. “there is always more than what meets the eye.” But she did not come here to boast of her accomplishments.

“Were you headed to rest?” Gyda inquired simply of him, if so she did not wish to keep him.