Sleeping Dragon heavy is the head that wears the crown

It had been a while since her talk with Gavriel and his agreement to aid her in the creation of Drageda's future. The Viking Queen had deigned to give it some time, to know that he was sure and would not come to her with a changed mind before she had spoken to Thuringwethil of it. The changes in her body had begun in earnest this time and Gyda had favored seclusion because of it. There was a small measure of relief in knowing that she wasn't broken after all and that she would be able to bear Sleeping Dragon it's royalty. The valkyrie's sleep was nothing short of restless, and she awoke many times before she eventually gave up on the idea of sleep. She very neatly groomed a piece of fly-away hair for a moment, feeling the vain need to nit-pick on her own appearance for no reason other than it gave her something else to focus her mind upon.

Her mind was just as restless, her thoughts in a constant racing swarm, fussing and worrying even about the smallest of things that were out of her control. She worried about the borders — which until she had ended her receptive cycle would be straying far away from for the sake of not attracting attention she did not want — to the caches. She supposed she could do some hunting but was prepared to tear the lungs out of any male other than Gavriel that came near her, and yet on second thought was filled with hesitation. The confines of her cave were safe but she was not the type of woman to stand still.

The night carried with it a nice breeze, the echoes of which Gyda could feel within the depths of her cave. She lifted herself to her paws and stretched for a moment, loosening the muscles that lined her body before she padded to the cave's mouth, peering up and out at the horizon, velveteen, whose darkness was dotted with millions of stars. A familiar scent grasped the shield-maiden's attention and without truly thinking about it she followed it. It had been a while since Thuringwethil and her had had a moment to be alone, to speak one on one. The last time, admittedly, hadn't gone so well but Gyda was confident that such would not be an issue for this conversation.

Eventually, she found the Grounder, a canine silhouette against the darkened rock. “Having trouble sleeping too?” Gyda asked her, keeping to the rock face below the Commander for the moment.