Sleeping Dragon our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry

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Lurking in the background, as was typical of the storm-chaser, Thyri watched as Eske approached Freyja and spoke something into the slate-sister’s ear. Narrowing her brows and frowning, the child of thunder drew her tongue across her lips and muzzle with lightly bristling fur and snorted. She did not need to hear the words that were shared among her siblings, for she did not believe that she belonged with them. The only one of the young dragons that she truly agreed with was Hvitserk. Even then, his closeness with Freyja had left Thyri with a sickened feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew that she did not belong with the rest of the Drageda pack… her actions had even warranted a sharp eye from the Heda. To this, the young girl ducked her head out of view and prowled around the outer edges of the group.
 
Pale champagne eyes flickered upward as their inky leader addressed the crowd and made mention of beheading the beast in favor of a trophy. She spoke in the tongue that they were all to understand, but the Goufa thought it strange that they would keep that portion of the kill. It was not her place to question, though, and Thyri thought it best to keep herself out of trouble’s eye. Still, she did not move forward to share in the meal that was provided; she opted to wait. In that time, she continued to prowl along the outskirts of the group, keeping her eyes fixed on Freyja.

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