Ragnar had not sought Nerian out after their previous meeting, had not lingered in her presence after the bear attack, because while the Beta had more pressing concerns on his mind than his jilted Priestess, namely the new pack that had settled right on the Ridge’s doorstep, he had also thought to give her space. No doubt his immediate presence after rejecting her would only serve to rub salt in the wounds he had cut upon her …that part of him felt culpable for inflicting. Upon a reluctant and harder study he realized there was a fondness for Nerian in his savage heart besides admiration and he was struck with the idea of being in a polygamy relationship but knew very well that Thistle would never go for it (had said as much when she told him she would kill him if he was caught with another woman) if her jealousy was anything to go off of, and Ragnar wasn’t sure that Nerian would be all that ok with it either. He loved Thistle, there was no doubt of that and he was devoted to her but he wanted to take care of Nerian, too. He wanted to take care of her and he didn't trust any other man to do it correctly, and he could give her children if that was what she desired. She deserved at least that much after the things that Váli …and even Ragnar himself had put her through.

It was with the thoughts of a polygamy relationship swirling uselessly around his head, knowing that while it seemed like a perfect solution it would never work (even if they did agree to it they would constantly be at each other’s throats) but wondered if suggesting it was even taking it much, much too far. It was a fool man’s fantasy — having two women. It had once been his goal to spread his seed, to have many children to many women figuring it was the only surefire way to pass his genes and culture on rapidly. A great shake of his head was given to dispel the fantasy before it turned into something remotely tangible as he neared the rendezvous den he was working on, freezing when he saw Nerian peering into it, presumably looking for him. For a moment he stood back, observing her in the distance and felt himself sigh longingly, inaudibly for the complications his libertine ways had caused for all those years. Apparently, they weren’t as gone as he had first believed. “Priestess,” He called to her after a moment or two of staring, idly wondering why she was seeking him out, having assumed that’s what she was doing.

Ragnar tucked the dangerous and stupid thoughts of offering a polygamy relationship deftly away as he studied Nerian from afar, waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge him. Perhaps the Priestess’ confession of love had merely been a panicked response to her fear of Váli, or perhaps it had been because in some twisted form she had missed Ragnar; maybe, he considered, she hadn’t meant it at all. She turned to face him then, speaking his name how he had spoken her title. “You were looking for me.” It hadn’t been a question as it left the Viking’s lips but rather a statement. Peering inside the still in progress rendezvous den made it clear she was looking for him — or so this was how Ragnar chose to see it. She could have easily been looking for someone else but considering his was the only scent that hung on the den he doubted that was a viable possibility.

Ragnar’s eyes took in Nerian’s face as he drew closer to her, closing the previously wide gap of distance he had left between them. It was the familiar, stoic mask he had came to know and grow equally as frustrated by over the months of keeping her as his captive. She never spoke her mind, never showed her true feelings and when she did it was gone within a hairsbreadth of a moment. Ragnar couldn’t stand it, following the mind set that if she spoke what she thought and showed what she felt that maybe things wouldn’t be so damned complicated. Instead, she led the once Jarl on this bread crumb trail of riddles and guessing games. And maybe that was her intrigue to him. She was a puzzle. Every time Ragnar thought he finally had her figured out under her façade she threw him a curve ball that threw him back to square one. Wrong and frustrated all over again.

Though the wounds the bear had left had healed there was a small, sickening sort of ache on his hip/hind leg where the creature’s claw marks had torn open the flesh; reminding Ragnar that he had gotten them because he had let his attention waver at Nerian’s appearance on the scene. It reminded him that he had been concerned for her — which currently wasn’t helping anything.

He had stopped, making sure there was still some distance between them, turning his attention to the den she indicated towards suspicious that it was the true reason she had wanted to see him. She came to find him, after this time to tell him she had finished her den? “It is familiar,” Was all Ragnar remarked before he turned his attention back to her. It reminded him a little too much of the pack he had stolen Nerian from, them with their strange, nameless God and their strange dens. He did not ask how she moved the heavy stones, figuring that she couldn’t have done it on her own and realizing that he didn’t care to know who had helped her. He only knew that it hadn’t been him. “Is that all you wanted to tell me, Priestess?” He asked her, dubiously, letting it open for her to either confess or continue on with what he assumed was a lie, which was ironic considering he was fairly certain her God didn’t like liars. Patiently, the Viking waited.

Ragnar did not pull away as she moved closer to him, and though his body tensed as hers drew along side his he did not feel the contact he had expected to feel. Still, she was too close and Ragnar was aware of the lack of distance between their bodies the same way he was aware of the proximity of Thistle. His expression was stoic, but his eyes were tempestuous, darkening as he was forced to come to the realizations that he otherwise wished he didn’t have to come too. He loved Thistle — there was no contest of that — and he didn’t want to lose her …but he would be lying if he said there wasn’t something — even if it was nothing more than a possessive fondness — for Nerian and that he didn’t want to lose her, either. In no world, aside from his fantasy world, would he ever be able to have both females, while the polygamy relationship sounded like the end all solution to him he instinctively knew Thistle would never go for it and would divorce his ass on the spot, and he wasn’t sure that Nerian would go for it, either. Maybe instead of taking wives he should have just created a harem. It would have been simpler.

Is it not enough for who? Ragnar wanted to ask her but resisted. Was she genuinely looking for his opinion on it and if so why? Did she value his opinion that much? Or was there a hidden connotation he was simply not picking up on? With Nerian, it was hard to tell and Ragnar felt that he always had more questions than answers. Because Ragnar wasn’t sure what she expected him to say he settled for, “If it makes you happy.” It was probably the wrong thing to say, touching the surface of what he assumed was her happiness so casually when he knew, deep down, it did not make her happy. She wanted her freedom — realistically it probably would be better for the both of them if he just gave it to her now — but her couldn’t. It was true that he probably didn’t need her as desperately as he had previously, he had enough followers that he could have set her free at any given time and yet he did not.

She spoke his name, beginning as if she had something important to tell him or ask of him, hesitating in a way that made it clear to him she was suddenly unsure if she wanted to ask it, before she asked something different. A question, he suspected, unrelated to what she had originally been about to ask which drove him a little crazy, wondering over what she had began with. Ragnar inhaled deeply and let it out, hedging his response. “I respect Pump,” Ragnar told her but it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple. “We are not as similar as I first thought. We are very different leaders,” That much was obvious as they were two very different wolves. “We disagree on a lot of things…she is more lenient than me on things that I believe should be seen with more importance than she sees them.” Like the whole fiasco with the bear and now with Wheeling Gull Isle. Ragnar had done what was in his small amount of power to do: warned them, and now given Pump’s take on the thing could do nothing more and was forced to let it drop beyond tightening his patrols.

“Why do you ask?” He inquired to sat his own curiosity, while inviting her to give her opinions without actually coming out and saying it.

A silence had settled over them as Ragnar waited for Nerian to speak, ears twitching towards her when she spoke that things were different here than compared to the Cove. She was right. Things were different because Ragnar did not lead and did not enforce the rules, and traditions he had known all his life on the wolves because it wasn’t his choice to make. Odinn had demanded he come here to start a pack that would be the Cove’s sister and so far Ragnar had been unintentionally slacking; and if the Allfather was angry about it he had yet to relay that fact to Ragnar. “I do not always agree on how she handles things,” Ragnar admitted but then again he suspected Pump realized that well enough. On some things she was too lenient in his eyes and others she was not lenient enough. “It is not my pack I cannot tell her how to lead it,” He could only give his opinions to her and what she chose to do with them was her business. He didn’t have to like it — and more than often didn’t but he was powerless beyond speaking up. Just as he felt powerless over many things. Some things he could accept, sometimes it was the Gods’ will and then there were other times that he felt he didn’t have to accept it but did because he had no choice.

Nerian asked of Wheeling Gull Isle and slowly Ragnar inclined his face towards her so he could look at her before he looked sharply away from where she still stood beside him, lest contact accidently came out of his desire to see her face. It drove him crazy how she was hiding from him. It was no secret that Ragnar desired to see them gone either by choice or death. In truth, the savage didn’t care which one. Which ever came first, he supposed. Ragnar had wished to tear them apart while their numbers had still been few, by now they probably had the numbers to rival the Ridge though Ragnar couldn’t help but sneer at the thought. He supposed fools tended to follow a fool. “I believe that she is,” Ragnar spoke coolly. “She can’t stop me from ruining their hunts, or chasing them out of our hunting grounds if I catch them.” And that was exactly what Ragnar intended to do if he caught them on the Ridge’s hunting grounds. “I have considered even raiding them,” He wasn’t sure how bountiful their caches would be but it was a consideration. Of course, not a choice he could make on his own without Pump’s approval and she probably wouldn’t approve of it so he didn’t bother asking.

The Viking was tired of wasting his breath.

It surprised Ragnar when he felt the crown of Nerian’s head bump against his shoulder, the touch wholly unexpected speaking that him talking of raiding was the man that she had known. Ragnar hadn’t changed, not really, he was just being smart and bidding his time. Playing obedient lap dog was not his favorite thing to do, admittedly, but he was clever and he knew that, for now, it was the role he needed to play (it also helped that he did respect Pump). “You would go with me?” Ragnar asked her, incredulous that he had actually had those words spill from the Priestess’ mouth. “Raiding?” He clarified just in the off chance that she had not picked up on that. He wouldn’t be going to make nice, if they did ever go, he would take what he wanted. What would be beneficial to Horizon Ridge. It wasn’t as if those words were anything he ever expected to come from Nerian’s lips.

Ears twitched absently as she asked him the purpose of the den, which was an interesting question for as far as Ragnar was concerned there was only a couple of reasons why wolves typically dug dens. “It is a rendezvous den. For my family, Priestess. The children grow each day and the birthing den is too small to hold us all. Us moving out will free the birthing den up for the next children to be born,” There was no sense in every couple building a new one each time when the one Thistle had given birth in was perfectly fine and wouldn’t be used until she was pregnant again (if each couple building their own was the case). He could feel her eyes burning into him but he did not look at her, not really wanting to see what he would expect to see there because he could never have her. There was no possible way that he could ever have both women, and Ragnar loved Thistle and to leave her just because he wanted that claim on Nerian (as if slave wasn’t enough) was stupid and piss poor to both women.

She made a weird movement, heard by Ragnar as opposed to seen as he studiously eyed the den trying to make sure it was perfect. She explained that she had an itch, though, he hadn’t asked and had assumed that it was just a twitch or something; her explanation, though, only proved to strengthen his suspicion. Ragnar prided himself on his renown as a family man, even if his reputation with women was a lot more liberal and libertine. Perhaps that was what Nerian expected: the man with a line of conquests and perhaps he would have been if he had not fell in love, and if he did not respect Nerian too much to add ‘conquest’ to her title of ‘slave’ as well. Still, the polygamy idea didn't sound all that bad to him but he would never suggest it because he couldn't.

Ragnar watched as Nerian’s pale silver eyes met his as she inclined her head, the strange cross marking on her fur that he normally was oblivious too, flashing at him like some sort of repellant. For a second the Pagan wondered if he was supposed to be burned or something, but felt nothing. It was just a marking, and had no more power for burning him than the earth did. Besides he didn’t even believe in her religion. She seemed adamant about wanting to go on a raid with him and though he thought her sudden desire was strange (perhaps a little suspicious) he drew in a tepid breath and let it out. “Fine. If you want to go raiding with me then who am I to stop you?” As it stood, currently, Ragnar wasn’t sure if there would ever be another raid but he figured he might as well indulge his Priestess. He couldn’t do anything unless Pump allowed it and while she hadn’t seen against the idea when he had brought it up when she had promoted him she hadn’t seen over enthusiastic about it, either.

He studied her when she chuckled, as if she found something funny but he hadn’t said anything and she hadn’t said anything previous to it other than about the raid. He offered her a wry twitch of his lips when she spoke about her needing a slave to help with some water way and with watering Thistle’s garden. He knew his wife had a garden somewhere in the Ridge’s lands but he had never been to it because well he’d had no need. He found the Berserker mushrooms elsewhere (though he suspected she did not approve) and he would have been lost in what was just green plants and flowers to him. He knew how to cleanse a wound with saltwater to battle off infection but that was about as far as his field surgery knowledge extended. “Slaves can’t have slaves, Priestess,” He knew she had been joking…or at least it was her way of joking and snorted slightly at the thought before he fell silent once more.

Ragnar remained stoic when the Priestess bumped her muzzle to his chest, and spoke that she was trying to impress Thistle. In a way, Ragnar felt bad about the position Nerian was in. Nerian shouldn’t have had to bear the full weight of Thistle’s jealousy and dislike, just because she was Ragnar’s slave, and likewise, Ragnar thought Thistle should give Nerian a little more credit than she did. It wasn’t like Nerian could help that she was in love with Ragnar; just as Thistle probably couldn’t help her jealousy. Apparently being honest and admitting his libertine past had not been the right to move to make with his fawn colored Shield Maiden. “I’m sure she appreciates your help.” Ragnar spoke before he fell silent, contented with it though his Priestess did not.

She spoke of being hungry and of fish, and let her offer out there in the open for him. “Now that you mention it I am hungry as well,” He was always hungry (he hadn’t grown out of that when he was a teen, apparently) and the offer of fish for a meal was as good as any. “I will join you to fish.” He agreed.