Sleeping Dragon No sleep in Toronto

At least once during the day, Thuringwethil swung by the den to make sure everything is okay. She makes sure someone is still guarding the den, whether it’s Dio or Hush, and to give Gyda a chance to stretch her legs. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. Today, Thuringwethil has stuffed herself inside to give the mother a few minutes to herself. It never lasts long, always drawn back to her children, but long enough that the children are fine in her absence, fed and playful or sleeping.

Thur?

She turns her head over her shoulder to see a glimpse of Wildfire’s legs and carefully, she moves—mindful of Freyja messing with her toes—and half-crawls out of the den to see her.

“Hey,” she says, glancing around—she’d sent the guard away for a few minutes to take care of whatever he may need—and takes note neither guard nor Gyda have returned. “Have you hunted for yourself lately?” she asks, glancing to the kill brought for the mother. Nothing either of them will turn away but the concern she’s not taking enough care of herself is difficult to hide sometimes.