Sleeping Dragon a prophecy

Unlike Gyda, who appeared to dislike the taste of the bugs that littered the land, Seregryn was all for it. She returned from her foray outside of the territory now — slipping across the borders once the swarm had dissipated, snapping at those that remianed — and she wormed her way along the mountainside, only stopping when she spotted a dark place to rest. As she crept towards it she thought she saw movement, and was eager enough to divert her path; if there were more bugs for her to smite, she would crunch them up and spit them out, like the many she had already destroyed. But this was no insect she found. This was a grizzle-gray woman, and the closer the girl got, the easier it was to discern which dragon it was.

This was the gray woman that shared favor with Thuringwethil; the one who had welcomed Seregryn and Gavriel in to the fold. A smell filled the air that Seregryn wasn't entirely familiar with, and as she came creeping from beyond the barren ridge, she found both Gyda and the puddle of her vomit. The girl's snout crinkled, but she said nothing, and only observed the gray woman and the dark of her den with some degree of discomfort mixed with boredom. There were no bugs here, so the eager huntress felt unneccessary. Not to mention they hadn't gotten off to a great start before, so Seregryn was feeling quite out-of-place because of that. She canted her head as if to imply some submission, though the fire in her crimson eyes went unabated.