Despite Thistle's protestation otherwise, Ragnar would not rest, not let the fact that he gave his eye slow him down; and if he would have even if he wasn't the worlds most insufferable patient, it would have felt like an insult to Odinn anyway. Ragnar had no intentions of squandering away the All-Father's favor when he had given so much for it. Even now, God and Mortal they were more alike than they'd ever been before and even though there was still worlds of difference between them Ragnar felt indefinitely closer to the All-Father. Having to retrain himself to hunt was a pain, though, but he spent several hours each day attempting to train himself to use his single eye to focus on everything, without compromising his ability to hunt especially given that he had abandoned the counselor trade in favor of something more practical and that the Bay was in current need of: Gamekeeper. It had been during such a session that the scent of another wolf, one that did not belong within the confines of his border raised the alarm inside his mind and caused his hackles to bristle with unease. The rabbit he'd been chasing abandoned, it's life luckily spared this day, Ragnar headed off in the direction that the scent was coming from.

He came across her soon enough. The Northman's steps slowed and a low growl tore from between clenched teeth, a warning. She carried the scent of Blacktail Deer Plateau upon her heavily, though, and despite that the Viking knew it shouldn't have mattered either way, it threw a wrench in it nevertheless. Peregrine might not have resided in Blacktail Deer Plateau anymore but Blue Willow did and Ragnar supposed that they were at the very least acquaintances. He had nothing against her, and she had taken him loyally to Peregrine at first when Ragnar went to place a bounty and according threat against Crete's head. That was an old wound now, and even if Crete did magically reappear Ragnar doubted Thistle would go crawling back to him.

The woman before him looked befuddled, and was shivering, but he wasn't yet ready to play the martyr. He had a reputation to keep, after all. “You do understand that you are trespassing upon my lands, don't you?” Ragnar's policy with trespassers hadn't changed any, merely he hadn't needed to take any prisoners or slaves lately because there hadn't been any. “What is your name?” The scarred Scandinavian inquired of her, voice it's naturally soft tone as he contemplated the truth delicacy of the situation he now found himself in.

The woman was trembling, her whole body wracked with shiver and shakes that made Ragnar ponder if he should call for Thistle. His wife was the only healer that the Bay currently had, with the departure of Nerian, and Ragnar was left relying upon her heavily, for his own sake and the sake of the others. In this, the Northman was glad that there were several months to go before she went into heat, and that he had made the very hard decision to evaluate the status of the pack before they went and brought children into the world, if the Bay could not provide for them. It wasn't necessarily a fair decision on his part, when he thought of it selfishly, because he was the Jarl and why did he have to sacrifice what he wanted, what Odinn had promised him just because they already had small children that needed the attention of not just Thistle and himself, but the pack as well. At any rate, if any of his subordinates found mates he was going to be a lot more picky about who was allowed to mate. The standards had yet to be set, and Ragnar was in no real rush because Thistle and him were the only couple in the pack (that was official at any rate?) but nevertheless he knew he was going to set the bar quite high. If he had to sacrifice what he wanted most in the world, then he had no qualms asking others to do the same. Even if it cost him favor within his ranks.

Ragnar's attention was brought back to the women when she began to stutter out what he presumed to be a response, but then began to babble about so many. The desire to ask her of so many 'what' was pressing but a quick glimpse at the hoof stamped ground told the Scandinavian what he needed to know. She had gotten caught in a stampeding horde of prey. In hindsight, she was lucky to be alive, and it was understandable that she had no choice, if she wished to live, to follow the herd even if it meant, in the massive confusion, trespassing; but this was a rare circumstance and one of the few that Ragnar could allow for an accidental trespassing and believe it. Clearly, she wasn't lying to him: she was terrified. That was obvious.

Ragnar watched her, a bit helplessly, as she slumped down to the ground and began to sob. The Viking recoiled back as if her tears would lash out and bite him. He had never known what to do with tears, and only a few times had he ever cried them himself. Despite the rumors that circulated around Ragnar and his culture in general, the Jarl wasn't heartless. He was still canine and capable of generosity and mercy ...when circumstance begged for it. It seemed pretty clear to him that he wasn't going to be able to have a lucid conversation with her until she calmed down. “You will not die,” The Viking spoke softly, attempting to make his accented voice genteel. “You are safe here.”

Despite his reassurances, though given the way he had initially greeted her Ragnar could see why it did not necessarily come off as overly reassuring her water works did not cease. Though if it was because she was still terrified that the herds that had stampeded around her or not the Viking did not know. She looked up at him then, her eyes brimmed with tears that were preparing to spill over the edge, not that she hadn't already began to cry to start with. It was in these situations that Ragnar had no idea what to do. He couldn't help but feel that Thistle would be much better for these types of scenarios than himself. He wasn't soft enough for be consoling, especially when someone was upset. Not that he was very good at being consoling enough to begin with; and trying seemed to be failing. In the end, all he could think to do was to let her cry it out, and hope that eventually she would calm down and realize that she was safe on her own. He supposed the next logical thing was to ask her if she was injured, which would then involve him calling Thistle, if she was injured. He couldn't see any from the quick sweep he gave but that didn't mean anything. “Stavanger Bay,” Ragnar responded, letting her know which pack she had accidentally found herself in. “Are you injured?” The Viking inquired.

The woman did not respond to his question, and Ragnar watched with muted concern. Even if she would have insisted that she was fine he was not extremely likely to believe her, though he was no healer he considered that she might be suffering from shock. Or hysteria. Or whatever else was happening inside her mind that she was not outwardly showing him. He watched, reserved as she half rose and wretched to the side, causing the Viking to take a few steps away so the contents of her stomach did not splash onto him. Luckily, Ragnar had been blessed with a iron stomach, though likely it had been conditioned during his days as Berserker. Three times, the Plateau woman heaved up, and his singular eye sought out her own, noticing that her eyes were glazed and that her pupils had blown wide, swallowing nearly all of her irises, leaving little but a thin halo. A morbid look crossed the Viking's facial features as he studied her as she seemed to lose consciousness. For a moment, Ragnar hesitated, wondering if now was the time to call Thistle's attention to this situation. Especially considering this was more of her area of expertise than his own. He was the half that was good for killing not saving.

The woman seemed able to stagger away from her puddle of vomit before she collapsed once more to the earth. A frown creased the edges of the Viking's lips, as he wondered what he was supposed to do. He did not, really, know what was wrong with her, and even if he did he still would have been no help. He knew basic field surgery, enough to “patch” himself up until he could get to some place where he could seek the attention of a healer after the fading heat of a battle, but the extent of his knowledge ended, disappointingly, there. For a moment, it appeared as if the Blacktail Deer Plateau woman was going to say something to him before she managed to wrangle herself into a sphinx-like position and seemed to have given up entirely, her head going to rest between her fore-paws. His howl had pierced the air then, urgent and demanding for the only healer the Bay currently had. The strain on her in the coming months, Ragnar feared, would likely be great and he wondered if she could handle being the only healer and his alpha female all at once. She was tough, yes, with a fire in her heart that had no match, to whom like a moth, Ragnar was drawn too. Even so, he wanted her to be healthy if he assessed that Stavanger Bay could handle more children in her upcoming heat season. It did not take Thistle long to come upon the scene and immediately stride up to the injured woman, touching nearly nose to nose with her. Ragnar took a step back for his wife, willing to let her do what she did best, trusting her judgment and the life of the woman entirely in her paws. “She was caught in a stampede and terrified when I came upon her,” Ragnar spoke, breaking his silence. “I tried to ask her if she's injured but she never got around to telling me before she vomited and collapsed.” Ragnar spoke hoping that it was enough for Thistle to go off of. It was hard to name everything when he went off of simply what he did know.

Ragnar knew he wasn't being of much help. Then again, there had to be some forgiveness in regards to the situation. He was no healer and had not actually seen the incident happen with his own eye, merely stumbled along to find the aftermath. If he'd have seen it occur then perhaps he would have been able to give Thistle more assistance, to tell her from a third party observer's account what had went down. Alas, the Northman could not. Ragnar watched as Thistle rushed to the woman's side again, fixing him in a stare. A grim expression stole across the Viking's expression, though it was cold and stone-like in it's edges. According to Thistle if they allowed the woman to sleep then there ran a chance that her life might not continue forth for very long. There was a part of Ragnar that knew the Gods had ordained this and knew that try as Thistle might there always run a chance that the Gods wished for the Plateau woman's life. At the same time, Ragnar was not going to stop Thistle (not that he'd be able too because even if he told her 'no' he had no doubt she would go behind his back regardless) from trying her best to keep the Plateau woman alive. In many ways, Ragnar did not want to have to explain to the Plateau why one of their wolves had died within his territories. The first time being non intentional.

Ragnar watched as Thistle attempted to shoulder the woman as a crutch, wondering if instead he should take his queen wives' place. After all, he was bigger than her and physically stronger, at the very least. “Do you want me to help her?” Ragnar inquired to Thistle before he let out a soft noise of indecision, knowing that likely Thistle would have to dig into the medical stores, which meant less for the Bay. This, was where Ragnar had the most trouble accepting this whole “aiding neighbors” things. He held a heavy doubt that the Plateau would compensate them for cracking open things that were supposed to be for the survival of the Bay. What if one of the wolves fell ill and the things that Thistle would use for the woman would have saved the wolves' life but then they ended up dying because they were depleted? “If it is possible...use as little and as common as you can from the medicine caches. Things that we can find in the winter,” Ragnar spoke to Thistle, fixing her in the stare of his remaining eye, and the hollow and empty socket, to show to her that he was serious. Even so, the wolves of the Bay needed to be their priority and though she might not have been willing to let a poor soul die, Ragnar was. “Do what you can for her, but if her injuries cannot be fixed with basic, common things that you can find even in now then you must let her Fate up to the Gods,” He refused to sacrifice the whole for one — especially when the one in this situation wasn't even apart of their pack. He supposed his words might come off harsh but he was the Jarl and it was his job to make the hard decisions.