Sleeping Dragon heavy is the head that wears the crown

Their touch is not as awkward as Thuringwethil anticipated. Things have been a whirlwind lately and their time together has been short and professional. Gyda’s words, however, are enough to give her a little encouragement she can relish in for a moment longer. That spring would bring them plenty and peace and everything, eventually, would settle. Routine would take hold—and the occasional hiccup wouldn’t make her complain, surviving is their biggest goal after all. Resettling their claim, merging their culture, it would eventually fall into place.

It isn’t long, however, that the comfort floods from Thuringwethil’s cheeks and her expression hardens, only for a moment, as Gyda speaks about her future litter. The dark leader lets a sigh slip between her lips, quiet and unheard, before she offers any semblance of positivity.

“Gavriel is a good choice,” she says, though something settles a little uneasily in her stomach. Because he was, by blood, related to her? Familial relations are often severed by the time they can be freed from their parents, as Fos Goufa, or the fact Gyda thinks one of her children would eventually lead Drageda. “An heir to Drageda is only a Fos Goufa,” she, however, does remind the silvery female. “But an heir to Sleeping Dragon could be,” Thuringwethil says with a smile and a flick of her tail, hopeful not to discourage the woman.

Even if they founded Sleeping Dragon together, Heda still lives within her, still rules over wolves that are not within her physical reach, and will never die. Gyda can join into that culture, into her own beliefs—not that she expects it anymore than for Thuringwethil to believe in Valhalla—but it is there, nonetheless, and Thuringwethil wouldn’t take it away from the viking queen.