Ragnar walked amiably, not wanting Surra to feel as if he was rushing him to hurry up and urinate along it, knowing that everyone marked them at their own pace and found that, with the absence of the tension that plagued him awake and slumbering on the Ridge, he did not mind taking it easy here. Thus far, the lands proved to be serene. There were no other packs in the immediate area to pose as annoying intrusions and, as far as Ragnar could tell, no murderous bears out for retribution. They should have killed it when Pump had found it tearing apart their carefully constructed caches. They hadn’t because…only two of them had answered Pump’s call…Ragnar and Gavriil, of whom Ragnar warred with himself over. Instinctively he found the other man to be a traitor to the pack by just disappearing, no one had seen hide or hair of him for over two weeks and it wasn’t as if he had been given orders to go anywhere, or had even bothered to let Ragnar or Pump know where he was going. He was just gone. The betrayal stung Ragnar like the callous lash of a whip against his bare flesh, the skin yawning wide from the force of impact. Gavriil had fought beside them, spoken of a great love he had for Pump and yet he left them. Where was his grand love for her when she lay dying, broken on the beach? It had not been Gavriil by her side as she drew her last breath but Ragnar who loved her in an admired, strictly platonic way.
He felt, in some small way, that he had kept his promise to her until the very end: he had been by her side, loyally and knew his loyalty to and respect for her still ran true in death. Yet, the Northman did not grieve any more than he had already done when he had witnessed her death. It was in his culture to celebrate death even if the sorrow of it rang true to the selfish part of his being. He had mourned and celebrated that Odinn had taken her, who was worthy, to Valhalla despite that his hybrid leader had not shared his faith.
Perhaps it was Ragnar’s own way of comforting himself because, in truth, he wasn’t sure what happened to the non-believers. He assumed they went to Valhalla, or which ever Hall best served them because he had knowing else to go off of and didn’t want to believe anything else.
Surra’s voice broke the Viking out of his wandering and even bitter thoughts jolting Ragnar’s recollection: they were speaking of his children and being trouble.