Sleeping Dragon in a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws

It took a moment for things to get rolling. Seregrýn’s whine doesn’t go unnoticed and she only flicks her a quietening look before she returns to the other. Gyda informs the lack of promise at her borders and Gavriel explains the reasoning for their presence. The wolves still faithful—she knew she still had them—remained loyal and waiting for her word. Still, the trust between them had been broken over the last few months but she could hardly consider Gavriel wouldn’t be here if it weren’t true.

There’s a wall between her and the three; their relation had never been forgotten but the disconnected hovered a shadow of a connection that never quite made it. Thuringwethil bites her tongue, glancing back over the trio, quite unsure of what to do with them. 

“Seregrýn,” she addresses, jerking her head for the girl to move closer. “You are to stay, we will talk later.” Having the Fos Goufa here might add more stress to her plate but she couldn’t risk not having someone to replace her reign upon Drageda. Her dark eyes watch her for a moment longer before returning to Gavriel. “There is a lot to catch up on.”

Whether she would send one of them back to Trigeda for a message, she would decide later. Gavriel would need to remain for a while, for the both of them to catch up and determine the best form of communication with the other pack once he's reproved himself to still call himself Drageda. Vercingetorix, on the other hand, had more to prove but for now she doesn't worry herself about that; she'd find something for him in due time.