Ragnar had been in the middle of his routinely sweep of the southern border when Pump’s howl had risen into the morning dawn, slicing through the serene silence that had enveloped the world around him. A pause was given, thoughtful as his Caribbean blue irises turned to the direction that the hybrid Alpha’s call had risen from. It had been a summons, for everyone and it had sounded relatively urgent. A quick glimpse was given to the territory beyond the borders, stretching vastly and enigmatically. Ragnar lifted his leg and strengthened the borders before with a flick of his tail he turned his back to them and lunged forth into the woodlands of the Ridge, his destination where Pump presently awaited them.

It had not taken the silver Viking too long to arrive on the scene and he slowed upon his approach, eyes taking in Pump first who was perched atop a boulder glimpsing down at the area she had chosen to have the meeting - for surely that’s what this was: a pack meeting. He would have claimed that he was the first to arrive which would have only been befitting of her future second command theoretically of course, but black, leathery nostrils twitched towards Thistle’s scent, rank with sick. He let his Caribbean blue eyes flicker from Pump to her then, taking in her stiff and tall posture. For a wordless moment he was reminded of a shield maiden facing her fate, strong, proud and unwilling to break even when others tried to bring her down.

It was true that Thistle looked a bit haggard, but Ragnar was quick to assume what was going on, if only because he had known before Pump about Thistle’s one night stand with a stranger. It began to make a conclusive sense within the Viking as he studied Thistle, understanding that she was pregnant though she was not yet showing, and that the purpose of this meeting was likely her fate. The savage glimpsed back up at Pump for a few thoughtful moments before he dipped his head and stood ready for the others to arrive, his mind working at what felt like a million miles a minute.

Few others joined but Ragnar paid them no mind, his gaze in a knowing manner, flickering between Pump and Thistle, having made a rough, though accurate conclusion. Pump spoke then after everyone who was going to come appeared, confirming what the Viking had suspected. Thistle was pregnant from her tryst with the faceless Plateau wolf, though it came as something of a surprise to Ragnar that he had known of it before even Pump herself. The aspiring Beta to be did not let this on, however, morphing his scarred face into contemplative surprise though it was no surprise to him at all. His eyes moved back to Thistle, despite that Pump continued to speak, meeting her gaze across the distance, only looking away and back to Pump when she spoke about the fate of the children would be death in a “regular” pack. Ragnar, silently, disagreed with that for their opinions of a “regular” pack differed rather vastly. Odinn’s Cove had allowed any who wished to breed the ability to do so, and illegitimate children were not uncommon, especially among the slave girls who often had pups to the men that would claim them during their seasons. Even they had been allowed to live, albeit as slaves most of the time, yet still. The ruthless Vikings were not as cruel on the subject of non leader puppies.

Ragnar’s expression darkened at the thought of the pups lives being ended, at the thought of Thistle’s life being ended. It was not a question that he had grown to care for the fawn shield-maiden during their time spent together which had been much when she had been tending to his wound. Pump ceased talking, speaking of wishing to hear what they had to say, and it was Thistle that spoke first, relinquishing her chance to speak her opinion in turn of a plea. He itched to interrupt her, to silence her from her willingness to take the full brunt of punishment for her actions but bit his tongue allowing her to finish, only having to wait with slight impatience as Gavriil beat him to the punch by speaking before Ragnar could part his jaws.

A storm raged in the Viking’s eyes as if it were created by Thor himself, as he fixed his gaze upon Pump. “It was never a custom in Odinn’s Cove to kill children, even before I was Jarl,” He told her simply before he took a breath and continued with, “This isn’t a delicate matter, I am not arguing that. However, the children growing within her will be young and strong. They will be able to contribute to Horizon Ridge. It would be in our best interest given how small we are, to let them live,” He glimpsed around at the others before his eyes fell back upon Pump. “And in regards to Thistle’s punishment, you cannot kill her, or even banish her without killing or giving up the children. They could not survive without her milk.” Sure, Pump was a female but her body would not have been producing milk to give to the children, and if she had never had children of her own it seemed unlikely to Ragnar that her body would realistically produce it regardless. And, frankly Ragnar would not stay if they chased Thistle out and sure as the life blood that surged through his body that he would not idly stand by if they decided to kill her.

She was his wife now. Her life, and the life of the children of Crete's loins and perhaps, even, his own were his to protect.

“I think the male should be punished for it. Why should Thistle bear it alone? It takes two to procreate. For all we know he took advantage of her." never mind that he was likely shoving a foot up his own arse Of course Ragnar knew that was not the case he had to try it just in case, and further he spoke. “I am willing to go and find him.” And possibly kill him if he was to be found; Ragnar volunteered before he fell silent once more, waiting for whatever was to come next.

It was true that while Pump did not make any specific mention of killing Thistle herself the casual way in which she said that she would kill the babes - new and utterly innocent to the wrongs of their parents as they were - created no bridge of difference to him. He could not see any mother willingly letting anyone kill their babes, even if the executer was the Alpha. Everyone was determined that Thistle’s Crete was gone but this was not a truth that Ragnar could willingly accept. Of course the absence of her first lover had given room for Ragnar to claim Thistle as his wife, he could not see past the fact that wolves did not just disappear off the face of the earth. He wanted answers - and maybe if he was being honest to rough the Plateau up - maybe duel to the death even though Ragnar already had Thistle.

Ragnar listened to Pump’s words, the dictation that the children would not even belong to Thistle and essentially himself, and instinctively it threw his paternal instincts into abrupt and forced overdrive. They were his children, their children not anyone else’s. Not even Crete’s (who was the biological father to them), and if Ragnar wanted to scoop his wife and kids up one day and depart the Ridge he would damn well do it. Did she not think that they wouldn’t rebel? Ragnar’s personal experience with children - especially when they hit the six month to a year range - was that they needed their freedom or else they would rebel. She could not chain them to the Ridge, after all. She was dictating to them and the babes what could and could not be done and a quick glimpse at Thistle hinted that she was not exactly pleased either. To Ragnar it appeared that Pump was punishing the babes more than she was Thistle.

Ragnar let the silence fall upon him, figuring it might be better if he did not open his mouth until he spoke with Thistle, first. He did not wish to step upon her toes by speaking out - even about their mateship which might at the moment, serve to make things worse. Instead he turned and walked off in a different direction than Thistle though he planned to double back and meet up with her. Of course, he intended to pay the Plateau a visit too, at some point, dissatisfied with the too simple conclusion that the Plateau male had vanished.