It was beneath the sky - as crimson as fresh life blood spilled across the sky like an open wound that spread as far as the eye could see - that Ragnar watched the sun rise, spreading a golden fire over canvas of trees in Ravensblood Forest as Ragnar stood high upon the actual ridge itself using the landslide as an easy climbing path to give him the view of Huginn and Muinnin. So this is what it is like to see what Odinn does, The Viking wondered peaceably, as enjoyed the rise of the sun admitting that it was a shame wolves were not granted hollow bones and wings as well. If Ragnar had not been concerned for the Thistle and the babes - given her recent drop in energy and increase in exhaustion - he would have invited her to share in the view with him. What held the potential to be romantic if the savage possessed a single romantic bone in his body (he didn’t) was tainted by his thought of carnage and gore in his wife’s absence of presence. It was just Ragnar, his memories that stretched from his very first raid up to the night under the silver moonlight, upon Odinn’s consecrated ground and beneath the Allfather’s watchful eye when he had claimed a part of Thistle that could not be unclaimed. Varied as they were they held no real sense of purpose other than to remind him though for what for he did not know.

After a few more minutes of watching - a silent and scarred sentry lingering above the land enjoying his bird’s eye view - he reluctantly began his careful descent down the ridge using the same path he had followed to get to it’s top, finding it somehow more treacherous going down than up. Heights did not scare the Viking, in fact very little did, besides his growing affection for Thistle and his inherent lack of knowledge of what to do with his falling love because he had never loved any of his wives or even, remotely, been falling in love with them. He was still a falling morning star within him that had yet to crash into him. He feared burying a second litter and he feared the anger that it would bring within him at Odin (as it had the very time) with the potential of firing onto Thistle as it had Dagmar. But, so far, thanks be given to Freya and Frigg (which reminded Tokio she should do a sacrifice thread for that) things seemed to be going rather well and so Ragnar did not allow himself to dwell upon what could go wrong because the mental image of tiny little bodies covered in blood, absolutely devoid of the life they should have had was enough to make the Viking see red (similar to the rage he felt when he had consumed the drugged mushrooms for raids when he had led them as a Berserker).

It was on Ragnar’s way to the borders to pick up where he had left off that he caught sight of Diluculo, hackles bristling as he assumed a dominate posture watching as she began to swallow her catch what appeared to him to be whole. Bewildered, the savage watched her the word Viper screaming through his head without restraint. Indeed, her method of consuming her hare was rather snake like. A viper suited her, Ragnar thought with a soft snort. His words of warning spoken to Pump in regards to their newest member we hardly forgotten as Ragnar moved closer to her. He would teach her to respect him as her superior (because Thistle and him were the highest ranking wolves under Pump) and he was willing to push her past her breaking point to do it. “You eat like a viper.” The Viking spoke his observation to her with disinterest, eyes watching her for her reaction certain she had something smart to speak to him.

Spin your satirical words all you want, Viper, I will break you, The Viking thought whilst his expression remained stoic.

Of course it came as little to surprise to the savage when her words lashed out at him across the distance between them spewing with the intent of venom but sounding childish and irrelevant to his ears. Here and now, knowing she was a member of the pack and not some stranger at the borders that he, as the Warden, had sworn to protect before Pump and Odinn both, he was able to take it with a much cooler temperament then before. They were petty words of petty attempts at insults that Ragnar found no more than annoying - like a horse fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing by his ear no matter how many times he attempted to show it away. For a moment, Ragnar got a sadistic sort of pleasure from imagining exactly how he would crush the life from her body, how he would sacrifice her to Thor but he was sure Pump would not be very pleased with him if he did such a thing; and just like that there it was: the damned Beta rank hovering over his head and the leash he had put himself on to see to it that he got the rank reminding him that he had to obey Pump, for now at least and curb his more ruthless tendencies.

Without any truth behind her sarcastic comments they held no weight upon him and Ragnar found it was almost too easy to ignore them and keep himself from retorting back. If she was going to act like a child towards him then he would treat her as he would treat a child. It was obvious she had yet to learn how the wolf hierarchy worked that he was above her in rank and Ragnar wondered what it would take to make her realize she was just a bug under his paw. Insignificant to him. “I can’t decide if you are stupid or just reckless,” Ragnar spoke softly with a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. “Perhaps you need someone to teach you how the ranks work in a pack.” He suggested to her with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I am not going to trade petty insults with you, Diluculo. I will not follow in your steps and resort to acting like an ignorant child.” Though, he had to admit she was doing a rather good job of it. In his opinion, Pump had gone far too easy on her and he was still angry with their hybrid leader for it but it seemed if he wanted things done his way he would have to take matters into his own hands. Consequences be damned, if Pump wanted to kick him out he would not plead for her to stop him. He would make his own pack as Odinn had wished him to do in the first place and he would take Thistle and their babes with him.

With that being said, the Viking intended to leave beginning to take steps with her, though his ears were alert to catch if she was willing to show him she was going to be an asset to the pack by acting like the adult Ragnar assumed she was or prove him right by resorting to more petty attacks at him.

Maybe it was Ragnar’s instinct and feral driven desire to dominate Diluculo that caused him to dislike her so because she refused to acknowledge that he was her superior in Rank, if nothing else. In Odinn’s Cove she would have found herself a corpse at the Jarl’s paws …but there was little sense in comparing the Cove to the Ridge. They were vastly different. Ragnar did not lead the Ridge, and it did not appear that he would ever see the Beta rank as far as he could see - and he did not have the freedom to execute as he would have. Pump lingered above him, her superiority over him keeping him in check, keeping the leash the Viking had foolishly he saw now, put himself on choking him back when he made to lunge. The chain that bound him would not break, would not rust and corrode. No, the only way he would be free of it was when he was allowed the freedoms he desired which didn’t seem like it would be any time soon. It was all amount of Ragnar’s outstanding will power and perhaps just dumb luck that he had yet to make good on what everything in his body was telling him to do. There was silence for a bit, interrupted only by the sound of her teeth scraping across the bones she worried, reminiscent to the Viking of how it sounded to crush such feeble things to splinters beneath the power of his jaw.

Ragnar watched as she rose - smaller than him, humorously, though he was used to looking down at others - Thistle particularly who was smaller than Diluculo as it was. While her pregnancy did not give his wife height it gave her weight (not that, Gods above he would ever tell her that) and he was positive if she could have gotten him to the ground Thistle could have pinned him with relative ease for multiple reasons. A soft, amused snort escaped Ragnar’s black, leathery nostrils when the female all but challenged him to kill her. As much as I would like too, There was no lesson in death. “No,” Ragnar responded stoically, simply. “That would be too easy and there is no lesson in that.” Death, for him was something to be celebrated and Ragnar meant to teach her not reward her with the ultimate end. “I plan to test you, to push you beyond your boundries. You will prove to me that you deserve your rank in this pack just as I had to earn mine. We are not equals, not even my wife and I are equals.” Thistle held the rank above him making her his superior and while the lines of their ranks often became blurred when they were together in private, they were not something he blurred when in the public eye.

Maybe Ragnar was overconfident, there was certainly no shortage arrogance, but he also recognized his own arrogance and confidence as stupidity (at least when it came to anything that regarded the safety of his family); but he was skilled at using it to his own advantage. For everything about him that was to others so “bad” his love and loyalty to his family was probably his one redeeming thing. Ragnar was not a villain but he certainly wasn’t a hero, and he understood this and frankly, had never tried to paint himself as something he was not. He felt no shame in his culture or his actions and would never apologize for them. If they wanted rid of him Pump knew exactly how to do it, in which case Ragnar would take his with him when he left. It was as simple as that. “I don’t need to know,” He contradicted her, smirking at her in wicked amusement. “Do you not think there are others ways to break you?” There were many. He could break her physically too, though it was not as lasting as an emotional break it was still painful.

“Do you honestly think Pump would have given it to me if I had not worked for it?” Ragnar had no qualms earning his place as he had likely proven to Pump on numerous occasions. Sure, he had asked for the Beta rank but he thought it was fair that he earned it, working himself restlessly to do so. He found the fact that she continued to hold him at bay annoying but until she gave him a solid and definite answer there was little he could do. He only wished if she intended to give it to someone over him she would tell him so he could put his preparations into action.

Death was not on the proverbial table for the ways in which Ragnar was allowed to break her - despite that in Ragnar’s life death was not typically seen as a punishment. It was the punishment for committing crimes if proven guilty, admittedly and only was it a true punishment if one was cursed from going to Valhalla. It had happened before, once. Mostly, however, that was off limits to him because of Pump. Ragnar was a little tired of laying down to her rules, ignoring his true nature and ways for the sake of his own ambition and her ability to keep what he wanted just, infuriatingly, out of his grasp. When Diluculo spoke she held his attention if only out of custom and nothing else, but her words were laced with curiosity - something that he could relate to her about even if he was unhappy with the subject of her curiosity. He did not like her speaking about Thistle (in fact he would probably be quite unhappy if he were to find out about their meeting and flirtations). As it was, the Viking was a little confused as to how Diluculo knew that because he knew he had never told her but then figured that she probably had spoken to Thistle, if only because Ragnar could not imagine anyone else really telling what was no longer necessary. The children were Ragnar’s - why did there have to be anything more to that?

Only Thistle would feel guilt and feel like she had to explain it all of it (maybe not all of it, it seemed that she was able to keep their night of shared passion while she was still in her season their secret) to everyone who asked.

Ragnar did not advocate lying as a general rule of thumb, however, he was cunning and wasn’t afraid to craft the truth to fit his own needs. He did not ask her how she knew of Thistle’s apparent ‘treason’, and despite that she had fornicated with Crete before Ragnar (he was denying what was obvious the children were Crete’s by blood) he did not really see it as treason. In Odinn’s Cove illegitimate children were rather common among Viking men and slave women, and sometimes even, slave men and free women/shield maidens. Ragnar’s own father: Eitri had a bastard son, Ragnar’s half brother, Dagrún through a slave girl. In the following moments of her questions, no doubt meant to dig and writhe beneath his skin, Ragnar simply stared at her. In truth, he had never really thought about it and never before in the way Diluculo stated it. In the rare times he considered Thistle his superior he had always assumed it was because she had been in the Ridge longer than him, was a valuable asset as the pack’s only Healer and had worked nothing less of miracles upon them when the landslide had nearly extinguished the life of their small pack. He did not need Diluculo digging into the fact that Ragnar was not Pump’s second in command a fact that already had dug beneath his skin and perversely itched and irritated him. “No,” Ragnar said simply. “Thistle has done much for this pack and earned her rank above me. Her punishment was sorted in other ways.” The Viking explained before he fell into a stoic silence, waiting with the exasperated patience of a parent looking after his over zealous child, as Ragnar wondered what she would throw at him next.