Ragnar was just getting back from a short outrider trip out to Neverwinter Forest when Thistle's howl rose into the cooling air for him. The content of his Queen Wife's howl was vague but there was a detected urgency to it — not a social call or a booty call but a demand for his presence. There was no hesitation within the scarred Northerner as he lunged forth, propelling himself through the heart of his Stavanger Bay all the way to the coast part of their home. The scent of the sea brine was strong, the salty breeze that roiled off the sea always present. It buffeted against him, kicking up sand as he went, eyes of Caribbean ice scanning the beach for any signs of his Queen Wife. Thistle had an unintentional habit of blending in with the hues of the sand. Despite her ability to camouflage well with the beach he found his fawn colored shield maiden soon enough, predator eyes locking on the dark mass at her paws.

At first, Ragnar did not identify it as canine for the curve of the creature's spine was to him. He didn't pin it as aquatic per say but initially Ragnar mistook it as a meal. A gift of meat from the Gods that had washed up upon their shore. As he slowed his approach, sensing no danger, he had began to plan out how much of the creature he would ration for Julooke, wanting to offer the heavily pregnant woman something as her Jarl. To let her know that he hadn't forgotten about her and that he anticipated the arrival of her family with Verrine. Ragnar liked children, only, he wasn't exactly sure how to best deal with small ones which was his present issue with his own, currently.

The closer Ragnar drew his mistake began to dawn on him as the dark mass began to take the form of a canine. For a dark instant the Viking considered dining upon it anyway, but dispelled those thoughts quickly. He wasn't that desperate, and was in no rush to add 'cannibal' to his growing list of names he'd been called in his life. Is it dead? Ragnar asked his wife without feeling, ready to let the sea claim it once more if it was.

The mass of wet fur hacked violently and coughed up the sea water it had inhaled, rasping out a feeble 'no'. Ragnar's attention went to it without sympathy or concern, face set as hard as stone and as cold as the ice he had been born near. Lazily, the Jarl's eyes went to his Queen Wife following after her with no hurry when she gestured for them to move a bit away, out of ear shot of the dying man on their shores. Washed up on their shore or not he was a trespasser and the more it happened the less mercy Ragnar had about the situation. He was tired of it and no longer disconcerted the difference between willingly crossing his scent borders or being unintentionally washed up on his shore. If the man didn't have the energy to haul his half drowned ass out of his borders then Ragnar would put him out of his suffering. It was truly that simple to the ruthless Scandinavian. He had no more mercy left within him — and why should he show mercy? What had it ever done him other than garner him disrespect? He wasn't soft-hearted, nor sympathetic (at least not to complete strangers). He was not like the others. He didn't care about the lives of anyone outside of Stavanger Bay. Whether they lived or died was of no real consequence to him.

The Jarl was silent as Thistle spoke, barely hiding his scowl. Of course she would want to heal him. It was her nature — a nature that the two did not share with one another. I will not waste resources cached for our pack on a half drowned, trespassing stranger. Whether Thistle agreed or disagreed with him Ragnar did not care. His word was final on it. She would not waste their stores on a stranger of whom there was no guarantee he would live anyway, or even if he did live no guarantee that he would stay. That Ragnar would let him stay. It was pointless, in Ragnar's eyes. A child, Ragnar would have not been able to say 'no' too but a child the dark mass was not. He was likely older than Ragnar. His death was probably inevitable, anyway. You do not have to heal him. Not even meagerly. Our pack comes first, our subordinates, our family comes first. You can let him die. Or let the sea claim him. He glimpsed back towards the dark mass on their sands and let out a snort. But you'll do what you want anyway, He knew her, and he knew that she would do what she thought was right even if it meant defying her. And he would let her because he loved her. It would piss him off but he would get over it and they both knew that. If you must heal him you will use the minimal amount of your medicines that you can. I do not care if it is not enough. Perhaps it shouldn't have washed up on our shores. His life means nothing to me. When he is well enough he will willingly leave our lands or I will kill him myself. Those were Ragnar's conditions. They were harsh but he was a harsh man and with Winter fast approaching and the birth of children quickly on their way he had no tolerance for sharing — something that he did not do well to begin with.

It was survival of the fittest and he planned on making sure that he and Stavanger Bay survived.

Ragnar glimpsed coolly at the dark man when he rose and thanked him. Eyes of caribbean ice narrowed in natural suspicion unsure what he was being thanked for. The idea to spare his thought had not been Ragnar's own. Not really. He agreed to let Thistle heal him in the hopes of appeasing his Queen Wife though even if Ragnar had said 'no' he understood that Thistle would have done it anyway. It was better, he learned, to give her permission rather than have her anger him by defying his wishes. After all, the last wolf that defied his final decision had found his ass tossed into the Wilds with the threat of death hanging heavy in the air if so much as hide or hair was seen of him again. Ragnar was the Jarl and defying him held consequences. He felt that it should have been true for everyone — which was precisely why he'd given Thistle the permission to heal him with only the bare minimum. For what? Ragnar asked the elder male coyly, smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as his rhetorical question hung in the air between them before the scarred man turned back to Thistle.

It does not mean you have to heal everyone, wife, In fact, her main concern should have rested within the Bay and that was it. If Ragnar had the ability to do more than field surgery (which was shoddy at best) he certainly wouldn't have wasted his talents on strangers. Floki didn't. Then again, they were hard men and Ragnar, well he was heartless. Call for me when he is ready to talk. If he has nothing to contribute to this pack I don't want him eating up our stores of food as well as taking up our medicine. Ragnar told his Queen wife, fixing her in a piercing stare. Do not wait, either. If I have not heard anything in a week I will take matters into my own hands. We are not a charity pack. He warned her and with that he leaned forth to offer her a kiss before he disappeared into the heart of Stavanger Bay.