Sleeping Dragon red: the color of desire

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“Your grandfather was a great Jarl, Freyja, but he was not always a well liked man,” Gyda admitted. “He was ambitious. He knew what he wanted and he did not stop until he got it. He had many enemies. When I was a girl, younger than you, a pack had settled on an Island called Wheeling Gull up on the coast,” Gyda gestured in it's general direction with an errant flick of her muzzle. “Ragnar took it upon himself to set boundaries for them. To threaten them from their home for they were too close to our own. They came inland to hunt and Ragnar was afraid there would not be enough food. This war continued for a long time. He took two of their wolves he found trespassing as captives and made examples out of them. He did what other leaders would not,” Of course in their culture this was not anything to look down upon. It was all commonplace. Accepted.

“When you lead Freyja, you must always put the pack first. You cannot be worried about other pack's survival or their wolves or what they will think of you. You must earn the love and loyalty of those that follow you, you must think about their survival and it will not be easy.” Gyda, herself, had slain her uncle in battle and usurped his throne for her own taking. Though she had garnered the support of the Cove to do it, Vali had put up a hard fight and none were allowed to intervene. There had been only two choices. Victory or Valhalla. Freyja was young, not yet experienced in the hardships of life. But she would learn: as they all did.

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