Sleeping Dragon heavy is the head that wears the crown

Now that everything is said and done, Thuringwethil looks forward to a little piece and quiet. The mess with the Grotto could be put on hold, until they cross the line and make their first mistake. For now, she wants them to rest and heal and return to their prime before the thought of any other bought of violence to get the results she needs. Esaro’s message must have carried significant consequence that they weren’t a match for a full pack of fighters.

It is only the tip of the iceberg for Drageda.

Gyda’s scent distracts her, tension rising in her chest when she hears the voice. She expects criticism, for some reason, but the queen’s tone is even, and soft. Thuringwethil closes her eyes and shifts away from the stone wall, the wind touching her fur again, and she dips her nose and softly bumps the underside of her chin. An act of parallel movement instead of an act of submission, before her nose touches her neck and she engulfs her in a quick embrace.

“It has been a long winter,” she murmurs though she’s unsure if her words are enunciated enough but she doesn’t care, withdrawing and taking a step back to distance them. Thuringwethil puts her attention on the future then, spring would be plentiful for them (oh, if she only knew) without the Phoenix wolves to their south. Their hunting grounds would open up and their legacy would finally begin.