The pitch black femme spent her days with her sons and mate, hunting and training. As a delta of Drekistone, it was Daenerys’ responsibility to train all the sigmas in case of battle; she thought she was doing a rather good job. She was proud to be a delta, serving her pack in such a way.
But she wanted more children than she could fit in her den. She wanted a huge family. Maybe some of their next children could get Stark names, since all three of Dany and Ghost’s children had Targaryen names and they, as well as any future children, were all half Stark.
Dany tipped back her head, howling for her mate . . . she missed his fur, his eyes, his very presence and warmth. She wanted more children. She was sure she’d get them. Ghost seemed very open to having more, unless she had misinterpreted something. But really, Daenerys just also wanted to lie beside Ghost and take comfort in the fact that he was here and she was here and they were together, with three handsome, healthy, strong sons to take pride in.

“So light me up, light me up, light me up, go ahead light me up!”