Sleeping Dragon bone tongue

Hvitserk hadn’t noticed when his sister had slipped away, and though he’d wondered about where she’d gone, he’d allowed for himself to be herded along by Gavriel. Once they’d reached the others, he’d easily found the familiar form of Freyja, but had not approached. He’d hung back and watched her, then looked to the darker woman as she’d started to speak. Names were mentioned, many of which being ones that he could not put a face to, and so they’d slipped from his mind just as quickly as they’d entered it. Perhaps he might recall them at a later date but, for the time being, his attention had shifted to his sister and the recognition that she was receiving. He did not feel jealous, but was instead proud, for he cared a great deal about her. To know that she was rising was a good thing, he believed, and so the boy had smiled in her direction. What followed was a chorus of spechou, the word having been spoken so many times that it no longer sounded correct to his ears. With a shake of his head, he’d then moved forward, careful to avoid the crowd as his sibling was sought.

As he neared her, the boy wagged his tail and wasted no time closing the distance between them. His nose found its way to her cheek, a smile never far from his lips as he offered his silent congratulations first. It was only once he was sure that he’d be heard by no one else that his mouth had opened, speaking to her just as he usually did. “Til hamingju, Freyja,” he’d told her, careful with his words. They were meant for her alone, for she deserved them more than anyone in his eyes.