It was not often that Ragnar overslept. In fact, he rarely overslept. Sometimes, he barely slept. His sleeping patterns did not exactly coincide with the norm, then again, he was the Jarl and sometimes things had him up at ungodly hours; and sometimes he was simply plagued with visions that would startle him awake and haunt him until he was forced to get up and patrols simply to take his mind off of it. Ironically, it was the exact opposite. Ragnar had been in such a good sleep, a deep slumber that would have made the dead envious that he was not, unusually, the first to rise. When Ragnar had stirred awake it had been to find him alone. No children, no women. Still half asleep he had a moment of panic where he questioned if he'd even climbed in the right den. It was soothed an instant later by the scents that clung to the earthen floor, and the fact that he remembered plopping his body between Thistle and Nerian right before he had been seized by sleep. Brow furrowed slightly before a yawn overtook him as he wondered why not a single one of his small but growing family decided to wake him. Not the children and not his wives.

With a grunt and a grumble under his breath about women he exited the den, squinting against the onslaught of sunlight that barraged him, opening his eyes in so increments so they could adjust. The scarred Scandinavian took a moment to stretch, shaking off the last tresses of slumber before he began heading in a random direction, planning on grabbing a bit of breakfast from one of the caches before he headed off to run his patrols. It was on his way to one of the caches that he caught sight of Verrine approaching with determination and purpose in his step. The Jarl slowed, and greeted the soon to be father with a soft chuff of greeting.

Ragnar accepted Verrine's respectful lick under his chin with an amiable wag of his tail. Good morning, Verrine, Ragnar returned his subordinate's greeting as his eyes of Caribbean ice moved from Verrine, glimpsing at the trees that surrounded them — despite that they were still within the safe confines of the ancient forest, a bit away from the borders. Old habits died hard. A truer statement Ragnar hadn't heard. He was late on his patrols and though it bothered him he intended to make up for it, for his wives allowing him to sleep in, by putting in extra patrol hours. A glimpse was spared towards the other man as Verrine walked beside him towards their scent markers — not that the borders that reeked of their urine was doing them much good lately, anyway. Trespassers seemed to be a consistently annoying thing. It was a shame, too, because Ragnar's mercy for them had been nearly ran dry. He was getting to the point where he had less and less regard for their lives and would sooner slaughter them where they stood, uninvited on his lands then take them prisoner. It was more work and with winter coming and babes to provide for he was not willing to waste the resources.

Scarred ear twitched in the other man's direction to follow Ragnar's gaze, a contemplative look stealing across the Northerner's face as he took in Verrine's words. Sure. What is on your mind? Ragnar inquired, lending Verrine his rapt attention keeping a small measure attention on their path.

It had never mattered to Ragnar what anyone but his subordinates thought in terms of how he chose to lead his pack, and the scarred Scandinavian only found it funny when wolves who had never been apart of his pack, had never seen his leading first hand tried to tell him that he was doing a poor job, that he was not worthy of their loyalty because he had no regard for the lives of strangers. No patience for those that he considered traitors, because he did did not believe in allies, alliances with other packs, or accepting gifts from wolves he didn't know. Gifts from strangers made him suspicious and beyond that he could not help but take as an insult unless there was a valid reason behind it. The only lives he held in regard when it came to strangers was children's ...like Junior's. Saving Junior and taking care of her had granted him a surprised and otherwise unlikely friendship with Peregrine. Even then, it wasn't like Ragnar had any idea whose child he had taken into his home and family when they had found her washed up on the shore river that cut through Ravensblood Forest. Ragnar's first concern was the wolves that he considered family, his subordinates and he would have never asked another pack to risk pointless and needless lives for him and his when it was of no consequence to them because, if it came down to it, Ragnar would offer no help if the tables were turned in that hypothetical scenario. It was why he had chosen to relocate them in the wake of Pump's death and a stupid would have been war with Wheeling Gull Isle despite that they hadn't been worth the time of day. It had been proven when Ragnar had seen for himself that the pack had demolished itself just as he had suspected it would. Maybe with the right, good leader they would have succeeded, but then again a good leader wouldn't have parked their pack on the doorstep of an elder pack and then cry victim when they were called out on it, saying how they didn't understand and asking why.

It was not with fear nor intimidation that he led his wolves; he cared too much about them, loved them all in different ways — it was only around strangers and trespassers that the Northerner implored such techniques but because he had a point to get across. Ragnar shook his head, dispelling the words that Adair had thrown at him, child like, because Ragnar would not accept him nor his gifts. He had been meaning to head to the Spine to see if he could find the wolf that held the responsibility of harming Julooke. He had figured that it was something Verrine would have wanted to be apart of, but with his children soon for the world it was not something Ragnar could, nor would, ask of him. Ragnar had no qualms with going alone. He did not fear the Spine wolves, nor did he fear death. And they could try to kill him, if they so wished, but Odinn had promised him a long and ardent life, full of success, and children. Ragnar had a long way to go yet, he knew, and the All-Father, Ragnar believed, would not let his most faithful servant down. Scarred ear twitched in Verrine's direction, cupping to the side when the Ostrega began to speak, learning quickly the nature of advice that Verrine sought when the other man — one of Ragnar's most trusted — started off with Julooke and the state of her pregnancy.

Verrine admitted that he was nervous — something that Ragnar understood well. He had not known how to deal with such young children in any compacity. Tyrr had been almost a year old when Floki and him had attacked him and in the wake of the Amazon boy's amnesia spun the tale that he was Ragnar's son. The part of rearing him had already been taken care of for Ragnar, all he had to do was convince the boy of false memories. He had already been trained well, too. Over time, Ragnar had came to love the boy as his own all the same. Regardless, no 'fathering' had to be done where Tyrr was concerned. Sveið had kept Bragi and her entire pregnancy from him, entirely, and so he had no part in his only blood son's life; and the litter Dagmar had bore him had been all still born. That was all Ragnar had known of as far as Pregnancy went — what it looked like when children were born already in the Hall of Valhalla. It was hardly pretty and the death of their children inside his third wives' womb had upset her greatly. Every man worries about that Verrine, Ragnar offered the Ostrega with a soft smile. Even I, Despite how Ragnar had used big talk of it not being his first time as a father it had been his first time with a successful litter and he still was not overly confident he had, as Verrine had put it, done right with his children despite Verrine's surprising compliment.

I do not know if I agree with you, but thank you, Was taking a second wife something that could be considered what a good father did? Ragnar didn't know; and there was always the concern that Thistle's mood about it would make Gunnar resent him, down the road. It was apart of Ragnar's culture and he loved both women. It wasn't as if he were trading one for the other. That was a whole sea of complicated fish that he did not want to open. Especially after things seemed to have calmed down a bit in that area of Ragnar's life, of which he was grateful for. I'll do my best. Is there anything in particular you're nervous about? If Verrine could give him specifics, it would work in the Ostrega's favor because Ragnar would have something specific to offer in return.