Though Ragnar had taken three wives previous to Thistle and was by now far and large used to how the role of husband worked there was a novelty to this mateship that had not been present in the previous ones, each morning as he stirred awake to see her sleeping beside him, it was a satisfactory sort of feeling that he could not put words to - neither common or old norse. His daily routines had not changed much, altered fragmentally to bring her food, or just to check up on her, mostly though it felt like he was just checking up on her more than he was bringing her food because she was still in the stages of her pregnancy where she was sick. Many thoughts swam through the Viking’s mind even as he dutifully patrolled the borders of the Ridge knowing that Pump was likely not far off of his position. He had never intended to take another wife when he came here and yet here he was. It seemed to the savage that while it may not have been in his plans it had been in Odinn’s and as a firm believer in fate and that it was already decided he chose to let it go because that was all he could do.

And he genuinely liked Thistle though they were two polar opposites in almost every way imaginable.

The howl had risen not far from where Ragnar had been working his way towards and picked up his pace. When he arrived he was silent, tail rose over his back in a stature of dominance as he approached her location, his Caribbean blue eyes assessing. “Who are you? And why are you here?” He demanded in his soft spoken, heavily accented voice expecting satisfactory answers.

The female, the Viking noted, did not submit to accept his dominance over the situation. His upper lip curled back exposing his sharp teeth in discontent. Not acknowledging him as the superior - for until Pump arrived on the scene he was the superior of the Ridge’s borders - was a strike against her as far as Ragnar was concerned. Horizon Ridge was small, a fact he had acknowledged and even brought up to Pump but he was doubtful that Pump would want such insolence within her borders - or at least this was the assumption the Viking made based upon his own opinions, especially since she seemed to like leading such sparse numbers. This was a great contradiction to Ragnar who found the small size of the Ridge to be threatening to their survival. At the end of the day Ragnar knew he had no true stake in the decision of if she should be allowed into the pack or not because he wasn’t a leader and therefore it wasn’t his call but that didn’t stop him regardless.

He was annoyed that she had more or less ignored his first question regarding as to who she was but did not draw attention to it immediately given the one she did answer, and in the way she had spoken it, deserved his attention more at that point. “Sarcasm and disrespect will get you no where,” The Viking rumbled his first and final warning. “You stand at my borders asking for a home within them, you are at my mercy. Do not forget.” The savage told her coldly, his soft spoken voice laced through with ice. “And it would be stupid,” He agreed to her comment of attacking alone, suspicion rising within him.

So far, the Viking was not overly impressed.

“Who are you?” The Viking asked again giving a pause before he continued with, “What skills besides sarcasm and insolence do you have to offer the Ridge?”

What the apparently nameless female - as Ragnar would mentally refer to her until she did give her name - didn’t realize about Ragnar was that he had no qualms about forcibly taking a “innocent” wolf’s life. He had done it countless of times during the raids, whether they had fought back or not. He also did not fear death for what was there for him to fear? He knew he would go to Valhalla when Odinn came to collect his soul. There was nothing of it to scare him. The only thing that kept her safe was that he did not lead the Ridge and did not want to have to explain to Pump why he was burying a body - not that he feared Pump either, for that matter. But he did fear for his pregnant mate and their unborn children (technically not his but it wasn’t as if it mattered). His loyalty to his family would always come before his own desires. Ragnar did not appreciate her blatant arrogance, her blind assurance that he had to accept her (even if in reality that power did not lie with him). “Do you think so, maiden?” The Viking asked her quietly, tilting his head a slow haughty smirk beginning to play at the edges of his lips.

Pump seemed content with their small numbers and even though Ragnar was used to many he would never stand for someone like her talking to him like she knew him, like she knew what the Ridge did or did not need. In fact, he didn’t like it and he wasn’t even a leader yet. “The summer months will be upon us soon, prey will be plentiful. As it stands to me you need us more than we need you,” Ragnar told her with a steely gaze and a lift and fall of his shoulders. He did not like how she presumed to talk to him and had an inkling that Pump wouldn’t like her attitude either.

Despite the warning growl he could feel bubbling within his chest he instead smirked at her, hiding his anger and irritation behind false mirth. In reality, he itched to force her beneath him in submission, to taste the salty tang of her blood as it spilled into his mouth. Your worst nightmare he wanted to answer but did not. “Am I to assume that you have no skills to offer us then?” The Viking spoke in a conclusive tone, “Able bodied isn’t specific enough. Every wolf is able bodied,” His mouth twisted the word as he wondered which corner of his den her skull would like nice in. He had no intentions of giving her his name simply because he was the one asking the questions - not her.

At the moment, he was confident that she was just wasting his time feeling that she was not serious about joining their ranks and if she was she was making an enemy with the wrong wolf as she would come to learn in due time.

Ragnar just smirked at the woman when she attempted to use Thistle against him, resisting the urge to go into a fly off the handle rage at her audacity to bring and dangle his wife in front of him as if it were a guaranteed way to ensure her acceptance. No, Ragnar’s rages were quiet and in this, likely more dangerous than being reckless. “I would rip the lungs out of anybody’s body that tried.” Granted, not in a blood eagle execution - no that was a slow torture method but there was a quicker way to rip lungs out of a body that was not the precision that the Blood Eagle called for. “Not fitting well with other wolves is a poor excuse,” Ragnar drew stoic, now. “I have been called savage, feral, heathen. I am all of these things, obviously I do not get on well with some wolves, either. But you learn.” And if at the end of this meeting Pump decided to accept her then Ragnar was determined to get the chocolate female before him to learn to get along - with himself and others she rubbed the wrong way. Of course, because of her blatant lack of respect towards him he did not trust her as far as he could throw her and would warn Thistle away from her, not desiring Thistle and their unborn children to be anywhere near her until she proved herself to him. Especially her willingness to throw Thistle around as a wildcard to earn her way into the pack.

Ragnar showed her no respect because as far as he was concerned she had not shown him it an ounce of it, either and he was a firm believer in giving what you got. His lips spliced apart to respond to her only to close when Pump made her appearance, speaking his name on his behalf. This earned a glimpse from the Viking who bowed his head to his superior, and offered her a subordinate lick under her chin before he recoiled and kept his icy oceanic gaze back upon the stranger. “Her name is Diluculo, she says she is fast, can fight, and can hunt. She wants a place within our pack and is confident that we need her, while displaying sarcasm and disrespect.” Ragnar would not lie to Pump for her, and had every intention of warning Pump to keep an eye on her, if she was accepted as he, himself, was making partial plans of doing.

Ragnar resisted the urge to rip and tear and teach in the most brutal way he knew how (which was rather brutal and ruthless). This little girl before him, all sarcasm and contradicting speeches of respect when she was so willing to disrespect him had no idea what kind of boy she was messing with; and if she thought she was safe from him because she was a female she had something else coming to her. Ragnar had slaughtered for less during the raids he led. If the Viking had a conscience it’s morals of “right” and “wrong” were horribly mixed up with in the terms of others. Oceanic eyes narrowed viciously. “I have nothing but respect for the female gender,” He contradicted her, feeling a bought of déjà vu wash over him for he had said something rather similar to Thistle mere weeks ago. “In my culture females are just as equal as any male so you shouldn’t assume,” He warned her in his soft voice. “And as far as respect you speak of me needing to earn it yet at the borders, as I told you, you are at my mercy. A little respect whether you know me or not, is expected.”

And then there was Pump, who was basically telling the ignorant and rude female before them that she didn’t have to bow down to her. For a moment Ragnar seriously contemplated his leader’s sanity, and furthermore felt that she had stabbed him in the back, not reprimanding the woman for her lack of respect. He was the Warden and she was just a stranger - essentially nothing and even when she was allowed in the pack she would be below him making him the girl’s superior. For all the respect Pump had earned of the feral Viking her betrayal stung him like the lash of a whip. Betrayal …it was not something Ragnar believed in forgiving.

He would gather up his mate and any that would follow him and be gone on the cusp of the morning if she truly wished to push him. Ragnar remained stoic, silent and cunning as he fumed with anger.

Ragnar’s patience was growing thin at a rapid pace. His temper was usually not so out of control but this female was digging under the Viking’s skin which would only prove to make her life a living hell if she was accepted into the Ridge, because the savage had no intentions of certiantly making it easy if Pump allowed her in the ranks though at that point Ragnar was left with the urge to kill rather than to send her off. Likely, she would just go to another pack’s borders and disrespect and talk back to them in which case Ragnar did not think anyone would allow. He did not need the girl’s lecture of “right” and “wrong” and her insults were only, proverbially, digging her grave deeper with the Viking. She was bold - stupidly so in his opinion - to insult him without even knowing what he was capable of doing. As it stood, only Thistle was vaguely aware of some of the things he had done in Odinn’s Cove and there was much he didn’t tell his wife because the little bit he had confessed upon had left her upset.

It was not shame for himself that kept him quiet but rather the consideration of how the knowledge made Thistle feel that kept him silenced upon the true extent.

Pump silenced them both and Ragnar, despite that she had stood up for him finally even going so far as to call him her friend, could not dispose so easily of his initial feelings of betrayal that lingered, stubborn. It should have not gotten as far as it had before Pump had chosen to speak he felt, but they would discuss it later. She dismissed him and without another word the Viking turned and disappeared, heading into the heart of the territory feeling too much pent up hurt and rage to go back to Thistle, yet.