Ragnar was always up early patrolling; and if he wasn’t to be found on the borders he could be found hunting for Thistle and the children since they had began to start eating regurgitated meat now. He did not catch them much because he suspected they still, largely, survived off of Thistle’s milk. It wasn’t that the whole regurgitation thing grossed him out — he was a warrior after all he had torn apart his enemies from their bellies to their throats — but Ragnar didn’t stick around for the processes of it, regardless. Mostly, he didn’t stick around for many of the meal times, dropping what he caught and departing to go take care of something else that required his attention.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Ragnar to come across Pump on his patrols, or in general, considering he was her co-leader and they needed to interact with one another on a daily basis but for some reason or another it came as a surprise to the Viking to have stumbled across his hybrid Alpha whom appeared to be dining on grass. He slowed his pace as she became more clear in the distance, a glimpse over his shoulder towards the direction of the Isle given before he ascertained that Verrine or Gavriil would be watching and accordingly continued in Pump’s direction. Tail swayed against his hind legs as he neared her, understanding that their opinions on the Isle problem differed greatly — as they seemed to do most days — but Ragnar was forced to retreat against what every nerve in his body told him for the simple fact that she was his superior and until that changed he couldn’t do anything about it.

Realizing that he didn’t want to have an argument against her about it he carefully tucked those thoughts away. She already knew where he stood on the matter and Ragnar could do no more.

“Pump,” He greeted her in his soft, heavily accented voice stopping when he drew within a comfortable speaking distance from her.

Battle was something that Ragnar lived for, and something he died for, as well, given that only the bravest of warriors were destined to make it into Valhalla to join Odinn in his army during Ragnarök. While Ragnar lived for many things, it was this …essentially his end that he lived for what could be considered the very most. Every day he worked to prove himself to Odinn, hoping that he did not misstep and lose his favor with the Allfather. He tried to take time to make sacrifices when he could but he thought that Odinn rather understood that with the children now eating regurgitated meat Ragnar couldn’t afford to give Odinn (or rather Huginn and Muinnin for there was little doubt in Ragnar’s mind that the ravens polished his offers clean) much. While nothing really came first over the Allfather, he had to consider his children. It was claimed that the blood frenzy was bred into them, merely enhanced by the spores of the mushrooms they consumed. His body was made for fighting, big, strong, bear-like, able to withstand and deal out brute force. Yet, it had been a while since he had done any of it. The last good fight he had had, had been with the bear and it had taken all of Ragnar’s common sense to leave it be, to not chase after it and attempt to end it’s life.

Despite Ragnar’s want for the destruction of the Isle wolves for sheer stupidity alone he knew that fighting them wouldn’t get anywhere; knew from his many times raiding that there were more effective ways of taking down an enemy than outright going to war with them. It wasn’t wise to spill blood and lose men when there were more diabolical ways. They would take longer, how many times Dagrun in his impatience had argued with Ragnar about it, but in essence they would achieve the same end without stupid risks. He understood Pump’s take on it. What frustrated him was he assumed it meant he could not attempt to sabotage them because they had done nothing first (even though technically by existing there they had).

Brow furrowed as Pump retched and coughed for a bit, leaving Ragnar standing there feeling well…awkward. It was bad enough he had to listen to Thistle retch up food she had consumed for the children he really didn’t need to see Pump doing something similar. Just because Ragnar didn’t want to hear/see something didn’t mean he was squeamish — he wasn’t — however, he didn’t have to like it.

“It is quiet, but I do not trust the quiet,” Especially given how the female had went around talking big to him about supposed ‘trespassing’ when they hadn’t been, and making her empty threats. As if Ragnar really feared them, as if he feared Majesty or death. He hated to be the bearer of bad news but he didn’t. “The wolf that greeted us accused us of trespassing when we were on the Sea Lion Shore which is not apart of their lands, and numerous of things. They are all stupid.” The whole warning had proved the conviction to Ragnar. “Normally I don’t underestimate so quickly but it has been proven true several times.” He was annoyed over the whole thing. Annoyed and uncomfortable with it. His sleep had been restess, his patrols long and tight.

He hated them because they made him feel territorial and on edge and took away the joy of being with his family because all he could think about, all he thought about was them and the looming threat of trespassing, of stealing food meant for his children. It was driving him a little mad.