Sleeping Dragon love isn't brains, children, it's blood

Freyja’s wonderment puts a slight smile on her features, a slight pull of her lips and a shine in her eyes that causes her to recollect days when she’d been young. Days she can’t remember but tries to anyway. What had she been like when she’d been this young? When she was learning all these things for the first time? Nothing in particular comes to mind except flashes of aggression and tedious learning, times a child should be enjoying things just as Freyja is now, on her own.

“The scents linger for a while but if not refreshed often enough, it will become stale and others may think we are not here. It is why your father and Dio and the others work hard on them,” she explains. Thuringwethil does not go any further into the mess of smells to cross over an invisible, wide barrier that separates the outside world from their own, safe haven. It is vulnerable on all sides, where Seageda had one protected side without the need to monitor as the sea faced them, but the Dragon has proven to be fine. In a land that knows little of them, she is content, but their work is never done.