Sleeping Dragon the daughter of the mightiest god

Ice ran through his veins and he flattened himself down against the earth, staring wide-eyed at the woman. Had he been wrong somehow? Was it not his mother? It looked like her, which left him feeling conflicted. An internal war raged on for but a second as he tried to decided whether or not he should flee, understanding for the first time why he was supposed to call for others whenever a stranger was met. With how rapidly his heart had begun beating, he’d nearly been made deaf, the sigh unheard. It was not until after her posture had changed that he’d manage to secure some sort of grip on reality, realizing that his first suspicions had been correct—it was his mother, however unrecognizable her previous aggression had made her out to be. Had she been smaller, it likely wouldn’t have mattered, but he was smart enough to know which battles he could win and which ones he would fall in. Untrained and lacking muscle, he’d not wanted to engage in battle against a wolf that he had believed to be a stranger; the thoughts hadn’t lingered for long before being corrected, but they’d still been present enough to have him becoming one with the ground.

Hvitserk had not answered her, nor was a verbal greeting given. He was just as quiet as usual, even as she’d approached and nudged him. Her command was obeyed and his form lifted up off of the ground, coat then having been shaken free of whatever dirt he might have collected whilst tumbling. By then his fear had faded entirely, allowing the child to better relax and return his heart rate to normal—which hadn’t happened, given the shot of excitement he’d felt in response to her offer. Still were no words to be uttered, a shake of his head being given instead. A smile followed after as he caught onto her teasing, right before he’d moved forward to bump his head against her. Whenever her patrol would be continued, he would follow after closely, his moment of fear having already been completely wiped from his memory.