Ragnar had been absent during the descent of his Bay, too busy seeking justice for Julooke when everything decided it was going to go to hell in a messy hand basket. It left Ragnar with severe regret. He shouldn't have left. If he wouldn't have left this wouldn't have happened; though he knew that wasn't true. His presence or absence didn't matter if the Norns had decided it. Of course Ragnar couldn't ever fathom how this was affecting his Queen Wife, who had been the only leader present during the shit storm. He didn't blame her for it, because it was ridiculous to place the blame upon her when she couldn't have done anything to stop it either, but Ragnar knew Thistle — and he knew she was likely beating herself up over the whole thing. Their subordinates were adults, capable of making their own decisions and henceforth, capable of dealing with the consequences of those actions. It was upsetting that Kevlyn, one of the Ostrega babies had went missing in the chaos, and with Verrine's trail ending at the sea with no body and Julooke gone there was nothing left but to assume the very worst. The remaining Ostrega children had been relocated to the Jarl's den, with Nerian and Gyda gone there was still plenty of space even with Mercury and Gunnar's growing bodies occupying it as well.

This was only another obstacle, and Ragnar knew that the All-Father was judging him, as he always did, carefully, weighing to see how much his faithful could endure, and how he was able to handle what the Norns threw at him. Ragnar knew that he and Thistle could never replace Julooke and Verrine to the children, was not what they wanted to do; but they were still very small children and they needed some sort of parental figure to take care of and teach them. Ragnar'd been down the parental road numerous times to think that he finally had a good grasp on what it meant to be a father — even a foster one. Ragnar was not sure if he would have any more children that were of his own blood, having only had one son with the Shield-maiden Sif, but right now spawning his own children was not a priority on his list of things to do. It had been for the longest time, but he had children that needed him now, and they were more important, foster or adopted, than future, theoretical children.

The scarred Scandinavian dressed in a coat of platinum silver, grown coarse to endure the harsh, biting winds and frigid temperatures of the oncoming winter had been going about his usual patrols, knowing that Thistle and the boys were aiding him in it, especially with the loss of Verrine when he scented her. Julooke. A mix of emotions welled up inside the Jarl as he made his way towards her, following her scent trail without hesitation. Anger, relief, the stab of betrayal. Of course he did not know why she'd left them, only that she was gone, and her babies were alone, especially given that he'd been left to assume that Verrine was dead. There was no evidence that proved otherwise. He remembered the harsh words he'd spoken to Thistle, in regards to his hesitation to let her back because at the current moment all that he knew, and was left to assume, was that she'd gone AWOL on them, and no one knew anything different. Ragnar's approach slowed as he came upon her, noting that she had a few wounds(?), expression stoic as he hid behind the cold mask. Ragnar greeted her in expectant silence, icy carribean blue eyes locking upon her. The Northerner would, at least, hear her out — not because she had (once) been a good friend of this, but because he was a Jarl and that was his job. To listen to the other's side of the story and make a rational judgement on what he had to work with, and Ragnar Lodbrok was a Jarl first and foremost.

Ragnar knew that he only knew his side of the story — which was that one day Julooke was gone and gone, and gone. Which was exactly why he was willing to, at least, hear her out. He didn't give the benefit of the doubt because it wasn't fair if he gave her the benefit of the doubt just because they'd been (were?) friends, whilst he gave no one else the benefit of the doubt. She was happy to see him at first, if the wagging of her tail gave any indication, but her demeanor changed when she saw his stoic expression. Too many times had Ragnar been betrayed to so willingly give that benefit of the doubt, and with the sting of Nerian's betrayal and abandonment still present like the linger of poison in his blood stream he was less likely to trust easily. He watched as she lowered her body into submission as the realization of his mood sunk into and when she spoke the Jarl remained silent. “Would I think it? No. Do I know absolutely? I don't know,” Ragnar broke his silence, speaking in his naturally soft voice, words accented as they'd always been. “You've been gone for a while, Julooke. A lot of things have happened,” The idea of telling her about Verrine and Kevlyn slightly made Ragnar uncomfortable but he knew he'd have to do it. He was cursed with being the bearer of bad news always. He'd had to tell his mother that Bjorn had slaughtered Eitri, he'd had to tell the pack that Pump had been massacred by the bear.

But before he broke that news to her, he had to figure out, first, what to do with her. He did not respond verbally, when she spoke what had happened, truly wanting desperately to believe her; while remembering the harsh words he had told to Thistle Cloud in the wake of all the incidents crashing down on him, stuck as he'd been in his own self pain. Silently he ghosted forward to her, and without asking her permission began to sniff at her, investigating the wounds for a little bit, circling her slowly as he attempted to determine if he had it within him to give a second chance. “Why didn't you call for help?” Ragnar truly didn't want to have to deal with another bear, though if it stuck around, this time, he would not flee from it. It could kill him, if it wanted. It wasn't as if Ragnar feared death. Even so, it seemed that Julooke was telling the truth and in reality, Ragnar had no reason not to believe her. In truth, calling for help didn't matter at this point in time, it was over and done with and now he had a decision to make, but he wanted more time to process things. “Kevlyn is missing, his trail vanishes into the sea,” Missing was a nice way of saying what Ragnar truly thought which was that he was dead given that Ragnar truly wasn't sure if he could swim or not. “And Verrine's trail also vanishes into the sea. I'm left to assume the worst with them because there are no bodies, but no scent trail going anywhere else, either.” Ragnar spoke gently, this time, pain for her loss breaking through his careful facade. It was possible that he drowned himself and that the sea took him elsewhere, or a predator of the Sea ate his body. The evidence that both were dead was a hard thing to dispute. It was better, Ragnar figured, that she know now, and hate him for breaking it to her, as opposed to finding it out on her own and hating him for not telling her.