Sleeping Dragon the daughter of the mightiest god

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Her children were growing. It was a beautiful thing for her to watch, to witness, to be able to guide them and yet it brought with it an undeniable sadness, as well. They were independent for the most part and while this was a good thing it brought with it the realization that they would cease to need her soon. Freyja already spoke so passionately about leadership. Eske was ...well Eske. Gyda was not able to determine if her daughter had any aspirations beyond battle. Would she not have been so immersed in her father's culture she would have made a shield-maiden to be reckoned with. Still, Gyda supposed she got her desire for battle honestly. A fierceness as her's beat within Gyda's own heart. Except unlike her youngest daughter she was not so aggressive. At least, not all the time. Hvitserk and Thyri were her presumably quietest children. She did not fret over Hvitserk as much as she did Thyri. The girl was the quietest out of them all and though she was worried for her second born Gyda tried not to pry nor interfere. If her daughter wished to talk to her ...she would.

Gyda found solace in the borders. With her children out and about of the den as they pleased Gyda returned to it was a fierce longing. Though she adored being a mother her true calling had always been the front lines. It was where the queen of valkyrja felt the most at home. Her ears swiveled to the sides as she bowed her head to sniff at the borders, pausing to refresh it with her own scent before she continued forth, alert, her gaze scanning the free territories beyond the Dragon's borders for any sign of danger.

[/td][/tr][/table]