On this morning the chocolate wolf couldn't sense any rain in the few hours ahead, which was a blessing. She did sense one thing in her future, prey. The midnight pelted wolf began her little search for small mammals that she could wrangle. Her tracking skills toned themselves quickly once she had became a lone wolf. Lone wolf's survival relied on just one thing, and that was the wolf. In the pack survival was easier, if you couldn't hunt or track or kill your packmates would for you. If you were alone, you were dead. When a wolf became a loner they took over all responsibility. They were the diplomat, the alpha, the scapegoat, the hunter, the tracker, the killer, and the defender.
Soon after traveling along the forest floor Diluculo picked up the scent of a hare. It had just recently pasted through the same dirt she was standing on. Slowly the wolf trailed the scent that danced around her nose. Just before the sun was half way through the sky her eyes caught the small hare. Crouching slowly the wolf watched as the brown hare ate silently, unsuspecting of the danger that lurked near. Just before the hare could sense her the chocolate wolf pounced landing a killing bite swifty. With pride in her eyes Diluculo picked up the blood soaked hare by her jaws and began to swallow it.
It was beneath the sky - as crimson as fresh life blood spilled across the sky like an open wound that spread as far as the eye could see - that Ragnar watched the sun rise, spreading a golden fire over canvas of trees in Ravensblood Forest as Ragnar stood high upon the actual ridge itself using the landslide as an easy climbing path to give him the view of Huginn and Muinnin. So this is what it is like to see what Odinn does, The Viking wondered peaceably, as enjoyed the rise of the sun admitting that it was a shame wolves were not granted hollow bones and wings as well. If Ragnar had not been concerned for the Thistle and the babes - given her recent drop in energy and increase in exhaustion - he would have invited her to share in the view with him. What held the potential to be romantic if the savage possessed a single romantic bone in his body (he didn’t) was tainted by his thought of carnage and gore in his wife’s absence of presence. It was just Ragnar, his memories that stretched from his very first raid up to the night under the silver moonlight, upon Odinn’s consecrated ground and beneath the Allfather’s watchful eye when he had claimed a part of Thistle that could not be unclaimed. Varied as they were they held no real sense of purpose other than to remind him though for what for he did not know.
After a few more minutes of watching - a silent and scarred sentry lingering above the land enjoying his bird’s eye view - he reluctantly began his careful descent down the ridge using the same path he had followed to get to it’s top, finding it somehow more treacherous going down than up. Heights did not scare the Viking, in fact very little did, besides his growing affection for Thistle and his inherent lack of knowledge of what to do with his falling love because he had never loved any of his wives or even, remotely, been falling in love with them. He was still a falling morning star within him that had yet to crash into him. He feared burying a second litter and he feared the anger that it would bring within him at Odin (as it had the very time) with the potential of firing onto Thistle as it had Dagmar. But, so far, thanks be given to Freya and Frigg (which reminded Tokio she should do a sacrifice thread for that) things seemed to be going rather well and so Ragnar did not allow himself to dwell upon what could go wrong because the mental image of tiny little bodies covered in blood, absolutely devoid of the life they should have had was enough to make the Viking see red (similar to the rage he felt when he had consumed the drugged mushrooms for raids when he had led them as a Berserker).
It was on Ragnar’s way to the borders to pick up where he had left off that he caught sight of Diluculo, hackles bristling as he assumed a dominate posture watching as she began to swallow her catch what appeared to him to be whole. Bewildered, the savage watched her the word Viper screaming through his head without restraint. Indeed, her method of consuming her hare was rather snake like. A viper suited her, Ragnar thought with a soft snort. His words of warning spoken to Pump in regards to their newest member we hardly forgotten as Ragnar moved closer to her. He would teach her to respect him as her superior (because Thistle and him were the highest ranking wolves under Pump) and he was willing to push her past her breaking point to do it.
Spin your satirical words all you want, Viper, I will break you, The Viking thought whilst his expression remained stoic.
The female was spewing up sarcasm as she spoke with posion in her voice. "And you smell like shit. Anything else you want to point out captain obvious of the perceptive ship? I heard recently that the sky is indeed blue, the grass is surely green and you are still an asswipe! Huh, curious isn't it?" Diluculo finished waiting to see what the snowy pelted male would retort with.
Of course it came as little to surprise to the savage when her words lashed out at him across the distance between them spewing with the intent of venom but sounding childish and irrelevant to his ears. Here and now, knowing she was a member of the pack and not some stranger at the borders that he, as the Warden, had sworn to protect before Pump and Odinn both, he was able to take it with a much cooler temperament then before. They were petty words of petty attempts at insults that Ragnar found no more than annoying - like a horse fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing by his ear no matter how many times he attempted to show it away. For a moment, Ragnar got a sadistic sort of pleasure from imagining exactly how he would crush the life from her body, how he would sacrifice her to Thor but he was sure Pump would not be very pleased with him if he did such a thing; and just like that there it was: the damned Beta rank hovering over his head and the leash he had put himself on to see to it that he got the rank reminding him that he had to obey Pump, for now at least and curb his more ruthless tendencies.
Without any truth behind her sarcastic comments they held no weight upon him and Ragnar found it was almost too easy to ignore them and keep himself from retorting back. If she was going to act like a child towards him then he would treat her as he would treat a child. It was obvious she had yet to learn how the wolf hierarchy worked that he was above her in rank and Ragnar wondered what it would take to make her realize she was just a bug under his paw. Insignificant to him.
With that being said, the Viking intended to leave beginning to take steps with her, though his ears were alert to catch if she was willing to show him she was going to be an asset to the pack by acting like the adult Ragnar assumed she was or prove him right by resorting to more petty attacks at him.
The female smiled when the male (finally) finished his statements. Taking one of the half crushed bones from the stack of flesh in front of her the female chewed slowly on it, leaving the male with just the sounds of bones scraping against teeth.
After a few moments the female placed the bone back on the ground and glanced up at the male. Gracefully the female rose from her position on the dirt. Standing a half a foot shorter than the male, and constiterably smaller in body makeup, she looked like a child next to him. Her icy eyes showed no fear for the male. "Teach me the ranks? What are you going to do? Kill me?" The female spoke her last words with frozen acid, letting it slowly seep off her tongue. The she wolf was ready for death but was the male stupid enough to grant her that wish.
Maybe it was Ragnar’s instinct and feral driven desire to dominate Diluculo that caused him to dislike her so because she refused to acknowledge that he was her superior in Rank, if nothing else. In Odinn’s Cove she would have found herself a corpse at the Jarl’s paws …but there was little sense in comparing the Cove to the Ridge. They were vastly different. Ragnar did not lead the Ridge, and it did not appear that he would ever see the Beta rank as far as he could see - and he did not have the freedom to execute as he would have. Pump lingered above him, her superiority over him keeping him in check, keeping the leash the Viking had foolishly he saw now, put himself on choking him back when he made to lunge. The chain that bound him would not break, would not rust and corrode. No, the only way he would be free of it was when he was allowed the freedoms he desired which didn’t seem like it would be any time soon. It was all amount of Ragnar’s outstanding will power and perhaps just dumb luck that he had yet to make good on what everything in his body was telling him to do. There was silence for a bit, interrupted only by the sound of her teeth scraping across the bones she worried, reminiscent to the Viking of how it sounded to crush such feeble things to splinters beneath the power of his jaw.
Ragnar watched as she rose - smaller than him, humorously, though he was used to looking down at others - Thistle particularly who was smaller than Diluculo as it was. While her pregnancy did not give his wife height it gave her weight (not that, Gods above he would ever tell her that) and he was positive if she could have gotten him to the ground Thistle could have pinned him with relative ease for multiple reasons. A soft, amused snort escaped Ragnar’s black, leathery nostrils when the female all but challenged him to kill her. As much as I would like too, There was no lesson in death.
"See the thing is Ragnar, you don't know what drives me. You won't find what pushes me over the edge you overconfident wolf. What makes you think you deserve what rank you have?" Diluculo retorted. Even the female didn't know what drove her, sure the simple fact of wanting to survive was a factor-but even that simple goal was becoming too much for the female. She had no close family left, no mate nor children or parents. She did have siblings back in her old Sarcina but she just presumed them dead.
Maybe Ragnar was overconfident, there was certainly no shortage arrogance, but he also recognized his own arrogance and confidence as stupidity (at least when it came to anything that regarded the safety of his family); but he was skilled at using it to his own advantage. For everything about him that was to others so “bad” his love and loyalty to his family was probably his one redeeming thing. Ragnar was not a villain but he certainly wasn’t a hero, and he understood this and frankly, had never tried to paint himself as something he was not. He felt no shame in his culture or his actions and would never apologize for them. If they wanted rid of him Pump knew exactly how to do it, in which case Ragnar would take his with him when he left. It was as simple as that.
Whatever rank the male held the she wolf knew it was towards the top of the chain. While he wasn’t second in command he was still in the upper level. Just below his mate although, which was curious. Why would a wolf that fornicated with another pack’s male be put above this creature? The creature that seems to think he is above every abiotic and biotic factor that ever walked this earth. It was something that struck curiosity in the female. ”Why is it that your mate, who commited treason, is above you? From what you seem to think about yourself you are the ‘bees knees.’ How could a wolf so seemingly loyal to the alpha be placed below a wolf who fornicated with another male. Curious, isn't it Ragnar?” The she wolf spoke in a questioning but sarcastic tone hoping to insight some type of emotion within the male wolf. She was almost certain he would keep a level head even though her taunting remarks were disrespectful.
Death was not on the proverbial table for the ways in which Ragnar was allowed to break her - despite that in Ragnar’s life death was not typically seen as a punishment. It was the punishment for committing crimes if proven guilty, admittedly and only was it a true punishment if one was cursed from going to Valhalla. It had happened before, once. Mostly, however, that was off limits to him because of Pump. Ragnar was a little tired of laying down to her rules, ignoring his true nature and ways for the sake of his own ambition and her ability to keep what he wanted just, infuriatingly, out of his grasp. When Diluculo spoke she held his attention if only out of custom and nothing else, but her words were laced with curiosity - something that he could relate to her about even if he was unhappy with the subject of her curiosity. He did not like her speaking about Thistle (in fact he would probably be quite unhappy if he were to find out about their meeting and flirtations). As it was, the Viking was a little confused as to how Diluculo knew that because he knew he had never told her but then figured that she probably had spoken to Thistle, if only because Ragnar could not imagine anyone else really telling what was no longer necessary. The children were Ragnar’s - why did there have to be anything more to that?
Only Thistle would feel guilt and feel like she had to explain it all of it (maybe not all of it, it seemed that she was able to keep their night of shared passion while she was still in her season their secret) to everyone who asked.
Ragnar did not advocate lying as a general rule of thumb, however, he was cunning and wasn’t afraid to craft the truth to fit his own needs. He did not ask her how she knew of Thistle’s apparent ‘treason’, and despite that she had fornicated with Crete before Ragnar (he was denying what was obvious the children were Crete’s by blood) he did not really see it as treason. In Odinn’s Cove illegitimate children were rather common among Viking men and slave women, and sometimes even, slave men and free women/shield maidens. Ragnar’s own father: Eitri had a bastard son, Ragnar’s half brother, Dagrún through a slave girl. In the following moments of her questions, no doubt meant to dig and writhe beneath his skin, Ragnar simply stared at her. In truth, he had never really thought about it and never before in the way Diluculo stated it. In the rare times he considered Thistle his superior he had always assumed it was because she had been in the Ridge longer than him, was a valuable asset as the pack’s only Healer and had worked nothing less of miracles upon them when the landslide had nearly extinguished the life of their small pack. He did not need Diluculo digging into the fact that Ragnar was not Pump’s second in command a fact that already had dug beneath his skin and perversely itched and irritated him.
Ragnar would never be able to understand what was so horrible about the fact that likely (he was still holding onto the errant hope that the babes would be his by blood) the babes were Crete’s -- at least from everyone else’s point of view. From his own, yes, he could, if they turned out to belong to Thistle’s one night lover, be threats to him and by all rights Ragnar could kill them. But, he didn’t consider them Crete’s - no, they were his and his babes alone, whether they were borne of his seed or not. They were his sons acknowledged and accepted by his Gods and for whatever it was worth, Ragnar loved the mysterious children in Thistle’s womb, anxious to know them and teach them the ways of their true people. From a general, detached perspective, while Ragnar understood the terms of her ‘treason’ he did not understand what the fuss regarding the babes was all about. As it was, Vikings had threesomes all the time he was tired of going around in regards to his babes and their conception. It didn’t matter anymore, and frankly as far as the Viking was concerned she had no say in it because it had been before her acceptance into the pack.
For now.
"I have no plans of being around your wife's children, I mean your children. I have no doubt they will be as beautiful as their father is." The she wolf spoke alluding to Ragnar as the father, while he wasn't the true biological father Diluculo gave him the courtesy of acting like he was.
By all rights Thistle had not been unfaithful to him, though Ragnar’s lie to the Plateau wolves had made it seem that way but Ragnar had only spun the deception because he wanted to see Crete pay for it, and since he could not track down the mute and slaughter him himself Ragnar had to do what he could with what he had to work with. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. Diluculo spoke again confirming she didn’t want to go near the babes and for some reason - perhaps the slight edge in her voice that eluded to her dislike of them - Ragnar believed her.
Again, Ragnar took her last words to be sarcasm, no doubt eluding to the disjointed raven that marred the flesh on the left side of his face and ear, to the smaller scars on his muzzle. Ragnar had been handsome, once. Maybe he still was, if no one looked at scarred half of his face though each of those marks done by Floki in honor of Odinn had been intentional and wanted by the Viking. Merely to humor her the Viking spoke with a slow and lazy smirk,
"You're right Ragnar." The dirt colored wolf looked down at the pile of half eaten hare then glancing back up at the male. "We shall see." With that the female gathered up her prey and trotted away leaving only the bones that she has gnawed on earlier. To her that was a gift, a future telling fortune for the male. Nothing would be left after the female had her way. One day (she hoped) the venom of her mouth would slowly consume Ragnar and his family leaving only bones and teeth marks.
But then again, only time would tell.
Ragnar did not pin Thistle for the cheating type, given how adamant she had been about making it absolutely clear that she would not tolerate him sleeping with another woman - going so far as to even promising him that she would kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Silently. It was terms he had agreed too the day they had become husband and wife, agreeing that it was only fair. It was the fact that she saw adultery to be an abomination (or rather this was how Ragnar assumed Thistle saw it) that the thought that she might cheat had never once, and still did not, enter his mind. Diluculo could spin her plans but Ragnar bestowed faith that Thistle would not fall for them, nor her, in hindsight; and further that his overbearing personality would shield his children from falling prey to a culture he did not want them to know. They were Vikings and if Ragnar were to ever catch her spinning things into his children’s ears there would be trouble and his regard for Pump and her superiority over him would be thrown out the window. The only reason it had not been disregarded yet was because she held something he wanted over his head how a child taunted a dog with a treat.
Even then Ragnar would only take so much taunting with patience learned during his time as Jarl. It would wan thin, eventually. If it was not already beginning to do so.
He watched her leave with clear disdain upon his face, lip curling back as he regarded the Viper’s left over bones with an equal amount of disdain that he bestowed to her. After assuring she wasn’t going to double back for another round of insults at him he turned and headed back to his patrols.