Sleeping Dragon that's the spirit

There’s another trip Thuringwethil needs to make out of the territory, not quite ready to send Wildfire out again—the information about Kierkegaard and what had been there still remained in the back of her mind—but she isn’t quite ready to leave the territory so soon. The trip won’t take too long, most of a single day, but she’d wasted a good majority of the morning and with a storm on the horizon, she’d rather wait it out for a few more days until she knows for certain things will be in place.

She eases her way through the area where most wolves slept, working her way back to her cave, when she sees a small, silvery figure up ahead without anyone else nearby. Her ears cup forward and she shifts her direction, making her way toward the young girl—a couple of sniffs indicated Gavriel isn’t terribly far off, if not in the den—and so she lets herself relax at the exposure. They were, more or less, in the rendezvous site now anyway, mingling with the rest of the pack, but her own protectiveness of the dragons never fails.

“Hei,” she murmurs a gentle hello upon her approach, glancing back upon the horizon and the storm to come, before focusing on little Freyja.