Sleeping Dragon baby you're a song

A thin fog had settled over the territory of the Dragon with the coming of the morning, the temperature outside already hot and muggy. Gyda had not slept well, the babes were restless, kicking herself and no doubt each other all night. “I know you are anxious to see the world,” Gyda spoke to them in a hushed tone, affectionate despite that she was tired (and potentially highly cranky, eep). She supposed sleepless nights was something that she was going to have to adjust to for she feared there would be many until they were old enough to learn the difference of time and when they should be awake and when they should sleep. She felt as big as the mountain itself, and her back began to ache accordingly. Every so often a cramp would hit her — small and not enough to fear that she'd gone into labor ...but she was close, she could tell. She had perhaps a week or so left. Truly, the time had went by so fast. She was joyful and also, though she deigned to tell no one or let it show, she was scared.

et, Gyda faith in Frigga and Freyja and their promise to help, a sign she had taken as the famine's end was strong. Her goddesses would not let her down, they would see that the birth went smoothly and that fortunate smiled upon the newest Dragons. Her birthing den was cool but Gyda did not enjoy spending so much time in it, knowing that soon she would be spending more or less all of her time in it until they were old enough to eat regurgitated meat. Her movements were restricted now and her rests were more frequent. She emerged from her den and squinted until her eyes adjusted to the early morning sun — somehow made more bright by the thin fog. She let out a yawn and stretched as pathetically as she could, visibly wincing when her back ached again.