Sleeping Dragon there should be stars for great wars like ours

Thuringwethil offers a few more licks across the boy but as the ever-increasing wail indicates is that she is accomplishing very little. She frowns and looks down at him, gently caressing him with her nose. She inhales a long breath; he smells nothing more than of Gyda and milk and innocence. Disease does not seem likely, lest it be something she has not seen, but she still peers wonderingly.

“What is wrong?” she softly murmurs, knowing the puppy cannot hear her, despite the wailing. He wiggles a little and shifts on the ground, as if he can’t get comfortable. She flicks her gaze up at @Gyda to see if she’s still sleeping, sure that nothing can sleep through the crying child.