Sleeping Dragon If I had a voice I could sing

Their dialect, Gyda quickly realized, was a little different. Not entirely — she could still make out the words albeit with some struggle — but the subtle differences only confirmed her conclusions earlier: she was not of Gyda's own clan(s). “nei, hún er ekki” Gyda responded and did not intend to further their conversation in their native tongues for the sake of not wanting to be discourteous to the flame kissed girl who lingered nearby. “It is the same for me,” Gyda admitted, waving away the apology with her words. She could not help but think that it would be nice to have another Nord in the Dragon, that she would have help with the sacrifices — despite that the famine made it hard to do any such thing — and could speak with someone that understood. Still, the judgment needed to be passed yet and Gyda firmly reminded herself of this.

Her attention was briefly pulled away from her task at hand when another approached — Thuringwethil — and as her lips parted to address Lagertha, whom had spoken once more, Wildfire had addressed Thuringwethil and then quietly added that she would leave her to it and departed. Confusion flitted across the Viking Queen's expression at Wildfire's abrupt departure, followed closely by Thuringwethil's own retreat after Wildfire sparked the heavily pregnant Queen's ire. Her irritation showed on her face and a low growl threatened to rumble in her chest. Perhaps it had been her hormones to spark such an instant reaction to their strange behavior while she was trying to tend her duties as Queen but it left her highly irritated at them both.

Alas, the task at hand was not over and Gyda offered Lagertha a sheepish smile. "ég er því miður” Gyda spoke gesturing at where the two women had disappeared. It had been rude, in Gyda's opinion and a situation she deigned to deal with later. “It may be some time before you can prove your true prowess as a hunter, if you specialize in big game. All that is left are small woodland creatures but I am hopeful that the herds will return soon,” Gyda spoke with a soft sigh. The famine had been hard, was still hard but the green she saw sprouting up was enough to lift the hopelessness she had begun to feel, the fear for her babes and what they would be welcomed to when they came into the world. They would not go hungry — no doubt she had milk enough for them — but she was tired of going hungry despite that she probably ate more than most of those in the Dragon if only in the interest of her babes. “I will soon be indisposed of fighting, at least until the babes are old enough to eat regurgitated meat,” Which was when she could entrust them to a sitter and tend more physically to her duties. “An extra set of ears and eyes on the borders would not be unwelcome.” At least Gyda could say that the Dragon and her precious babes were well guarded.

“Sleeping Dragon is not a Viking pack. You have seen the woman that leads beside me, the ebony one, Thuringwethil. Her title is Heda and her culture is different. Similar enough to mine...to ours that it works. She may not be a Viking but she gets the same respect that you show me. We do not tolerate insubordinate here.” Gyda herself did not tolerate insubordination but she would not tolerate it towards Heda either and she felt the need to make that clear given recent events with the Fos Goufa.