Sleeping Dragon If I had a voice I could sing

Gyda let out a huff. The babes were active and one of them had decided to kick her right in the stomach. It was strong enough to wind her for a moment and she paused in her trek to find the origin of the howl. She moved her head to the side and squinted at her rotund sides — had she been that big yesterday? — and spoke softly to her belly “Behave children,” with unbridled affection in her tone. Perhaps she should not be patrolling the borders. No doubt if someone decided to attack she would be a liability in her current state: she could not move like the Shield-Maiden she was. She was lumbering and had to take frequent breaks to relieve herself and to simply rest. Still, what was she to do? Stay in her den all day? Gyda didn't do well with being cooped up and she knew there would be plenty of time to be cooped up when the babes came into the world. She took their movements — and occasional abuse of her innards — to be a good sign. They were alive and strong enough to battle one another within her womb.

When her breath returned she pushed forth, a steeled edge to her gaze, her head and tail high as she approached the scene. Her eyes touched Wildfire first: a blaze of red against the backdrop and then it slid from Wildfire to the woman who had spoken, asking if Wildfire was the Alpha. “I reign here as Viking Queen.” Gyda spoke to announce her presence, recognizing the stranger's accent as a mirror of her own. Yet, the woman herself bore no recognition from Gyda. She was not of Odinn's Cove or Freyja's Moor ...from another Viking clan, then. Gyda had heard of them — knew that they existed elsewhere but had never before came to meet one.