Sleeping Dragon tell me of you

“I would enjoy that,” Gyda reiterated with a dip of her crown in a nod. “I will make time for you, so when you are ready to teach me come and seek me out.” Ragnar had always believed in making time for his wolves — that patrols and other kingly (in Gyda's case queenly) matters could wait. The legend had been many things: but no one could claim that he was not attentive to those who followed him. It was this that Gyda strove for. The shield-maiden had long ago ceased to find an awkwardness in admitting that she simply wasn't interested in males (Ragnar being the blasphemous exception to that rule). It was what it was and Gyda had found that matters of the heart were not biased to gender; nor did she think that they should have been. “So, is there anyone that has caught your eye?” Gyda couldn't help but ask with the playful gush of a teenager girl speaking of school crushes. Perhaps, in that very moment, that's what she was.