blood and starlight

So I went off of your last post in the actual plot thread. Hope that's ok! :D

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For a moment, Ragnar swayed as he limped, so close to home now, eyes sliding closed again, and imagined that he could hear the shrieks of children’s laughter, the sound of Thistle’s laughter like the soft lull of his favorite lullaby. The sounds were beckoning the silver Viking home. The bear hadn’t gotten anywhere near anything vital, and the tears in his flesh where the bear’s claws had sliced through fur and tissue and sinew, were not that deep at all but he had lost a lot of blood and in the wake of it he was aware that even these dream sounds were too unreal. The lullaby of a happy life, of his wife and their children varying colors of the sun and the moon and some of sand and snow was not his life. At least, not yet. Their first litter of children had yet to be born. The Viking’s eyes opened with reluctance and willed his body forward to limp, each step heavy as he drew towards @Thistle Cloud as she approached, her medicines in her grasp.

“My love,” The Viking cooed half-heartedly to her, barely hearing his own soft, heavily accented voice over the loud throb of his heart in his ears. Surely, this was normal for him. Expected of him. How many times had Floki dealt with this? More than either of them could count, certainly; and then there had been the time when he had nearly died first by blood loss, second by near drowning and then by infection. Two of which in the same day, the following within the same week. I have had worse. He heard her but did not deign to answer because she already knew it since he was the only one limping towards her with a bloodied hip/leg.

Ragnar had meant to lay down so as to make it easier for her to tend to her, but the action was anything but graceful. The uninjured side of his body collided with the hard earth roughly and he curled around himself - somehow - and attempted to lick the fur matted with blood and wounds clean though his reach (mostly because of his bulky body) wasn’t all that impressive, just catching the edge of the longest, middle claw mark.

Thistle Cloud Thistle Cloud saw her husband limping towards her with blood raining down from his leg and she wanted to bat him around a bit and maybe take a bite or two out of his ears. He was always getting hurt, he was reckless and it drove her crazy. Though a secret part of her liked fussing and mumbling at him and liked that he was a little bit crazy it was intriguing and sexxy as all get out, but she wasn't about to tell him that and watch his ego inflate even more. He was a dangerous man to both her heart and her sanity, but that made it all the more intriguing didn't it.

When he hit the ground she visibly winced, that had to hurt and he contorted almost like she did to reach his side, though she was pretty sure she had some serious weight on him, she could probably hold him down with her bulk alone as of late.

Mumbling she shuffled over to him holding her herbs in her mouth. Snapping at his muzzle she grumbled at him good naturedly.

"Stop that Ragnar I'll take care of it.

With that she began to clean the wound. It wasn't very deep, but he had been running on it and he had lost a lot of blood. She looked at him then looked at the wound and spoke again. Some days Ragnar i think you get hurt just so I am touching you. she was teasing, though she was worried the blood loss alone could be deadly.

If Ragnar had known that Thistle thought him and reckless went hand in hand he would have corrected her. He did not perceive himself or his actions as reckless, had learned that you couldn’t afford to be reckless since he had been Lead Berserker. The life of his men would have been at stake and sometimes it was better to let the enemy take the initiative. See what they would do; but maybe to her it did seem as if he were reckless. Unfortunately, he was not a God (though even his Gods could bleed and die) and injuries came with the job. With his way of life. Ragnar did not notice her wince when his body collided with a heavy thud to the hardened earth, clouds of dust billowing out around him where he had disturbed it. As he attempted to clean his wound for her she snapped at his muzzle, teeth near the leathery flesh of his nose - for the love of Valhalla he’d been trying to help her — but ceased his licking to fix her in one eye, studying her as she grumbled (albeit good naturedly but Ragnar didn’t pick up on this the oblivious man he was) and gave into her demands with a begrudging, exasperated sigh.

Despite his exasperation — the fact remained that while there were some things that he would not budge on with her she had somehow managed to grab his heart. Or …he had given it to her. Either way: she had it and the Viking was a little more willing to at the very least try to see her way. To take into consideration her side.

The feel of her tongue gliding over torn flesh, exposed sinew and matted fur was, somehow, a soothing feeling. A comfort. It brought Ragnar to the realization that he had come to rely on Thistle heavily - not just as a Healer but as his love and his wife, the mother of his children. She was all of that and more - if it were a possible thing; and further more he learned as she smoothed her tongue repeatedly over the blood matted fur and open wounds that he trusted her impeccably. Wholly. Ignoring her comment about him purposefully getting injured just so she would touch him (admittedly it was a perk) but if he wanted her to touch him he would have just asked. Ragnar wasn’t very timid - if at all, truthfully. “I love you, you know?” He murmured to her, watching her as he stretched his leg out so the wounds were fully exposed to her, claws scraping against the earth as his tail drummed it repeatedly though it was less of an expression and more for something to focus his mind on instead of the sting of the wounds because he (though perhaps that was men everywhere) was not keen on expressing pain. Physical or otherwise.

he catches her off guard everytime lmao,"

Thistle realizing that he had been trying to help and did not realize she was teasing leaned over and gave him a lick to the muzzle. I know you don't like this Ragnar, but we don't want any delusional fevers now do we.

If he had spoken to her of trust she would have agreed that she trusted him whole heartedly as well. it was strange the one wolf that most wouldn't trust merely from scars alone she trusted more than anybody.

Thistle was momentarily caught off guard and looked up at him and with a quick swipe of her tongue over teeth she smiled. I love you too, more than you know Thistle smiled again and then bent back to the cleaning of the wound. It wasn't very deep, but it had cut some of the muscle which was not good, but he would be fine it would knit back together if he would treat it correctly and keep the herbs she was going to put on, on it. She bent down and then looked back up and spoke asking quesitons. Was anyone else hurt? Did you get the bear to leave the territory?"

Hehe, he's sneaky like that. ;p I found a video of Ragnar from the show performing the Blood Eagle. :o click it's not as gory (it's still kind of uhm gross, lol) as I thought it would be. xD

Thistle leaned towards his face then, and he felt her tongue glide across his muzzle, mixing his blood, the blood of the bear and her saliva against the short, velveteen fur there, covering the smaller scars that marked his muzzle in rich crimson. His nose was full with the scent of blood, the bears, his own. The scent did not turn the Viking’s stomach as it might have others. He was born in and grew up in blood. He had smelled it many times, and even the sickly sweet scent of decaying bodies. He was not as desensitized to it as he had once been when raids were a regular thing and battle loomed right around the corner at almost all times. “That is only if it aah —” The Viking let out a small hiss as she returned to cleaning the wound. “— if it festers with infection.” He had suffered through plenty of them to know, but he trusted that she knew too from experience as a Healer, alone. In retrospect, Ragnar should have been the world’s best patient. He spent the most time stealing the Healers’ attentions (both Thistle and Floki) but he had always been insufferable with it even as a small child.

Apparently, this declaration of love had caught Thistle off guard, which was amusing because it was not the first time he had ever said it to her, but her surprise, he realized, probably wasn’t all that unwarranted given that it had sort of just spilled from betwixt his lips without any conscious thought. Despite that, he was not just casually throwing it around. He truly did love her. Somehow, impossibly, but truly all the same. “It caught Pump on the back, it didn’t dig into her or anything - just bruised her maybe. She insisted she was fine,” Ragnar told her. “It is not dead, but it has fled. It may come back,” It was not an over joyful realization but it was a reality they had to acknowledge nevertheless. “It will remember what I did to it. Maybe that will keep it away for good.” The Viking grinned then, but then let his head fall back against the earth, trying to make himself still so she could apply what ever medicines that were required.

"OMG how did that guy not scream? I would have been screaming like a bi*** he was alive almost that entire time....eww wrinkles nose and of course ragnar be wearing white to kill someone lol,"Thistle had not meant to mix his blood all over him, but oh well these things happened when one was healing she supposed especially given the amount of blood Ragnar had dripping out of his leg. She sighed and wrinkled her brow trying to stop it enough that she could put a binding on it. She finally got it enough that she could press some aloe which would stop the stinging and soothe and the bergamot to keep out infection and she bound it all up with cobwebs. She looked up at his hiss and spoke softly Sorry about that didn't meant to make it hurt. Then she looked back down as she listened to him.

That's good Ragnar you all got away with minimal damage. Even your's isn't all that bad though it will be painful and definitely itchy since your muscle has to pretty much knit back together. She tilted her head looking down at it one last time and then sat down on her haunches. She began to clean the blood from her own paws and then she would get around his wound and on his face since she had left a streak of blood there, though her own streak of blood that he had originally put still went across her muzzle. Though she was unsure what it meant she somehow knew it was important so she left it there.

Maybe because he accepted his fate. It was the price of his betrayal. I don't know but I think Lagertha was the only woman who didn't look like she was going to throw up, lol.

Ragnar lifted his head to study his wife as she murmured her words of contrition. Though she explained to him that she had not meant to make his wounds ache any more than they already did, Ragnar was unable to understand, precisely why she was remorseful. This was more likely than not borne of his own refusal to ever show remorse for the things that he did — and it was true that the words “I’m sorry” would never slip betwixt the Viking’s lips just as they had never done previously. The wolves of these lands were too quick to those words of remorse around, though Ragnar did not doubt that Thistle meant them, but still. “Do not be,” Ragnar told her briskly. “Do not be remorseful for the things that you do.” Regardless of if it was something that could be helped, or like in this very instance where the pain added by the motion of her tongue soothing over his heated skin and torn flesh was nothing short of unavoidable. Expected.

“Healing wounds are always irritable.” He murmured in a rumble of crossness, not directed at her specifically but at the world in general. She had slathered her medicines on the wounds and bound it in rudimentary wrappings -- the best that could be done with what she was given to work with. He did not thank her — mostly because he felt that he didn’t need too, and besides that he had other ways of expressing his gratitude besides actually speaking the words — not even as he glimpsed back as she worked on cleaning herself up a bit to examine her handiwork. He shifted his body then so he was laying in a sphinx like manner, looking back to the direction his body was facing, his eyes fixated on the endless stretch of horizon. Gradually, he drew his own tongue across his bloodied front paws, before he gave up on attempting to clean his coat, deciding that it was a job for the river the next day. “Come here, Thistle,” He beckoned her to his side then, desiring to feel her side pressed against his, the intermingling of their fur to sharp contrasts of one another. “I know you do not now the symbolism of swiping my blood on your cheek before I left,” So he thought he would explain it to her. “It is an old tradition of my people, the smearing of blood on a lover’s cheek. It’s a powerful symbol. Of Love. To remind you that if Odinn would have claimed me and I would have found myself in Valhalla that our love still exists, our passion. That the bond of a husband and wife does not have a limit between life and death, that it transcends boundaries. And, if would help me to find you in whatever Hall you would go to when it was your time.” It was kind of a romantic tradition, but it was tradition all the same.

"ah i see I did not know he was a betrayer. yes then he probably was accepting his fate. Yes they all did was the one his wife? the one that got sick first or turned away. Well she's a strong woman that Lagertha :). Ugh four days someone needs to adopt the little princess!"

Thistle had felt bad for hurting him,but that was the way of things. She was a healer she was in this trade to help others not to hurt them, so it bothered her even when it was needed to hurt another. She would hurt another if it was best for them when she was healing, she would hurt another if it came down to her life or her families life and theirs, but if she didn't have to she wouldn't for any other reason. It was how she was made, it was her own inner compass.

Thistle laughed at his grumblings and nodded Yes I suppose they are and you would know. She stood and gently padded over to him albeit a bit ungainly and lay down resting her head over his back but watching him out of the corner of her eye. She ran her muzzle gently across his shoulder blades and listened to him explaining the significance of the blood that she wore on her cheek.

She blinked it was a beautiful tradition none the less and she would wear it with pride now evne more so that she knew what it meant. Though her blood ran cold at the thought of him dying, she knew it was the way of things and if Odinn was to take him as her husband would say it was meant to be. As much as she disliked agreeing with that it was the truth of the matter regardless. But he swore up and down that he was not going to die young, in a way that comforted her but also scared her, because how could she put as much faith in that as he did. It would not keep her from healing him every time and worrying every time, but at least it would give her some small comfort perhaps in the back of her mind. She licked his muzzle then and whispered You better always find me Ragnar or i just might box your ears. She smiled then a slow soft smile.

I think so. At that point in the show Lagertha had divorced Ragnar (he had it coming, sadly) but yeah, I think the first or second woman they showed that turned away. I kkknnoowwww. Ein is exciteded to be borned. :p

The sound of Thistle’s laughter, so soon after Ragnar had finished his man grumbling in regards to irritated and itchy wounds let the Viking knew that his wife found his grumbling to be amusing. He spared her a cheeky little grin for a few seconds before a stoic expression stole over him once more. The feel of her head resting against the junction of his shoulder blades, and the warmth of her body against his own was enough to make Ragnar sigh with content. “You don’t have to wear it all the time,” He told her though he was not sure what made him say it to her. “I will smear blood on you before every battle or raid, I promise,” When spoken that way …it really took the romanticism out of the gesture and reminded Ragnar of how others might think it inherently barbaric. Maybe it was. He had never cared what any other creature thought of him or his culture, especially because he did not ever remember asking for the worlds’ opinion. “I will slip out of the feast hall every night to spend with you,” The Viking vowed - because he couldn’t spend days with her since the days of the warriors in Valhalla was spent training and either dying (again) only to be resurrected each night for the feast and drinking. Not to mention her days would likely be filled with whatever it was the ones that Frigg took did (Ragnar probably knows but Tokio doesn’t admittedly, lol). “Soon our sons will be born into the world, and they will be raised and trained and taught.” He was ready for them. Ready to be a father, again, though this time it would be to squealing and crying newborns instead of a juvenile who had been captured and suffered memory loss — admittedly at Ragnar’s own paws.

"Fensalir is the hall of Frigg but i don't know if they can dwell there. Poor Lagertha :(,"Thistle smiled in his fur I know this Ragnar, but I will wash it off later I'm too comfortable to do it now. Thistle chuckled at his words and thought deeply to herself about how if someone over heard that they might find them both to be crazy. It made her giggle. Thistle in a way envied her husbands confidence and stoicism. She herself often cared far to much what others thought of her and she disliked that feeling. She did her best not to wrry, but it was the way of things and she could not change that about herself easily it would take time and effort on her part.

Yes they will Ragnar in less than a week truthfully. She had not known if she told her husband that yet or not, but the pups would be here soon she could feel it. The cramps got harder and worse sometimes you could almost see them rippling across her abdomen and her teats were swollen and leaking. Those pups would be here sooner than most knew.

He did not expect her to jump up and wash it off that very second and if she had — well maybe not jump considering the action alone might be enough to force her into labor — he would have coaxed her back to his side before she got very far. Ragnar, himself, was too comfortable, with his wife resting against him, his body slowly unwinding from the heat of battle. He felt cooler now, the medicines she had slathered on his wounds working, and beyond that he was contented to just relax and enjoy this moment, here, with her. Not something Ragnar did a whole lot of given his penchant for always keeping busy with something. “It is about time they come and say hello,” Ragnar jested with her lightly, reaching down to draw his tongue across one of her forepaws, tasting the metallic tang of his blood on it, too. “And once they are born and your body recovers we can practice for your next season.” He teased her with a mischievous and carnal glint in his eye.

is there a way to make it so your table comes up everytime you post or is it just copy and pasting all the time?

Thistle would have laughed herself silly if she had heard her mates thoughts about jumping. She could not jump anytime soon, let alone walk correctly half the time. Whatever any one thought the small female was large and it was actually quite hard for her to keep upright most of the time. She unbalanced quickly and easily as well. sometimes it made her laugh others it irritated her adn she wanted to rant and rave.

Thistle nodded Yes indeed it is your large sons that they are Ragnar. It would not surprise me a bit if they come out locked in combat the way they all wrestle and writhe around in there. Just as she said that a rather sharp kick intoned itself upon her ribs and she chuckled See even they agree. She chuckled at her mate and licked his face. We will practice will we I can't say that I will find that unpleasant. You plan on making sure I am pregnatn as soon as next year comes around huh. She teased him gently pulling on his neck fur.

Not as far as I'm aware. I just copy and paste it every time. ^_^ That would be a cool feature to have though. :o

There was a smirk accompanied by a soft snort of acknowledgment, curt and short lived though the noise was when Thistle mentioned that they were his large sons. Ragnar had nearly all but forgotten about Crete’s conquering of Thistle, the night, ironic though it was shared in the same forest, Ravensblood, that Ragnar had planted his own seed within Thistle, taking what she had offered him that night — several times that night — because she had wanted it, too. In all of reality, Ragnar had nearly forgotten about Crete’s existence period because her one night lover didn’t matter anymore. Ragnar had earned the prize of Thistle’s love, had taken what was rightfully his, and with her forged a bond that, should he ever come traipsing back, would never be in danger of being compromised — at least that was how Ragnar liked to fancy their love, how ever harsh and barbaric it was. Ragnar had squashed out all the remaining competition until he was confident enough that no more existed. Even if Crete did by some unfortunate circumstance find himself back in the Teekon Wilds Ragnar had ensured that he would not be welcome back into Blacktail Deer Plateau by informing his leader and brother of the crimes committed — even if it wasn’t technically considered a crime; and her certainly wasn’t and would never be welcome in Horizon Ridge unless Ragnar had finally moved on to claim Ravensblood. At that point, Ragnar wouldn’t care if they let his deceased brother’s ghost it. At that time it would no longer concern or pertain to him.

Her confidence in the way she spoke of the children in her womb as his made him begin to believe it himself, all over again (they weren’t Ragnar’s but genetic specifications didn’t matter, they were his by claim and therefore his children period). “Maybe,” Ragnar chuckled trying to imagine two little infants tangled around each other in their baby version of ‘combat’. It was an amusing, if impossible, image. “Of course you don’t my love,” He purled to her, lips spreading into a devilish grin, eyes dancing as he attempted to command and hold her own irises, the color of the deepest azure. “A great Seer once prophesized I would have many sons,” As if that was explanation and answer enough for her. In a way, it did answer her question. He intended to have children until one or both of them could no longer reproduce - which meant they had quite a long way to go. It was a peaceful thing to imagine them grey (well gray-er in Ragnar’s case) surrounded by children and grand children and great-grand children. If Ragnar and Odinn, Ragnar assumed, had anything to say about it the Loðbrók name would be, one day, well known in these Wilds.

Thistle Had pretty much decided to forget about Crete as best she could. He had hurt her in a small way but more than that he had left when she might have been carrying his pups granted he didn't know but still he was no fool at least knowledge wise anyway.So he could have easily deduced that knowledge if he hade stayed around. Granted her sexy beast husband made it near impossible to think of any other male as it were. besides he would make a good father a little rough around the edges but all the same a good one.

Thistle knew that in all reality the pups could not wrestle yet and upon birth they would be deaf and blind however she could easily imagine once they aged they would be extreme wrestlers. Blue eyes locked onto blue eyes dancing with merriment and desire the latter not being hard for her husband to induce in her. Thistle chuckled at her husband oh they did. well then I guess I better get used to boys and pregnancy.

You get my 300th post with Ragnar! :D For a second there I had to double check to make sure it was right and that I had actually posted that much. xD

Ragnar put much stock into things such as prophesies and superstitions. Half of the time, Seers never gave direct answers and Ragnar had learned that more or less they were up for open interpretation. Or at least that was what Ragnar assumed, where it was right or not he couldn’t be sure. His interpretations had yet to cause Thor to strike him dead so he decided that his assumption was safe. At least for the time being. The prophesy that Ragnar would have many sons had been as clear as crystal, not some crafty worded response or his least personal favorite, the returned question worded differently to make a wolf deduce that what they desired to see would be so. Though Ragnar believed in a Seer’s powers, he also believed that the Gods did not always answer them — after all they were busy, too and surely they could not answer every single question every single wolf had.

“He did,” Ragnar confirmed at Thistle’s chuckle, wondering for a moment if she was taking him seriously. But this was Thistle; and she knew better than to mock his Gods, especially to his face. Had she not felt them? Heard them that day in Ravensblood Forest when he had summoned and then been possessed by Odinn? Had she not heard the guttural and tremble of the Allfather’s powerful voice? Ragnar chose if only to soothe his own concern that she had been laughing fondly at the idea of having a lot of sons and that it meant nothing else. “Pregnancy is becoming on you, my love. It fills me with great pride and happiness to see you round with my children.” He murmured into the silky velveteen fur of her ear, voice low, nearly a accented whisper. Desire and love also, but those went without saying.

oooo yay! My numbers still surprise me too lol. oh I'm sorry I neglected Ragnar yesterday I got caught up in the jace plot.

Thistle being who she was and how she was raised did not know or put much stock into seers herself. However being who she was she also did not make fun or anything of the like those who called themselves seers and those who revered them. After all they could be truth behind them and she wasn't about to mock them or anything for fear something bad would happen simply because she was ignorant of their ways and sights. Secretly she would be glad to give Ragnar many sons at a seers vision or without.

Thistle licked his face and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper those gods and seers of ours are awful smart I plan on bearing many sons. the slip of tongue she hadn't realized came about. though if she had realized it would not have surprised her. She had decided that she would fully accept all the viking ways for the simple fact that she wasn't about to get left behind by her children that would come soon enough on its own when they went on their own adventures.

No need to apologize! I totally understand. <3

Ragnar grinned at the feel of his wife’s tongue on his face as she licked it though he could not tell if it was purely an affectionate gesture or also because she wanted to clean his face of the grim and blood that had covered it, too. He did not grim and blood; then again he had never considered that it might have grossed her out. The idea, even as he thought it, sounded a little ridiculous especially for a healer who had to be unafraid of exposed organs and blood and gore because that was their profession, whether they could save the injured or could not giving them the knowledge that they could not be saved, that they would die. It wasn’t precisely a trade for the faint of heart…or stomach. Just like being a Warden or Warrior wasn’t. “I have never met a stupid seer,” Ragnar chuckled to his wife, smiling at her. “But they are just gifted, able to communicate with the Gods. It is Odinn that is all knowing,” Of course Ragnar expected Thistle to know why because he had probably told her at least half a dozen times. “Have you accepted my Gods then?” Ragnar asked her as he nuzzled her cheek, teeth grazing the shortened fur there teasingly.

Truth be told dirt, grime, blood and guts did not bother her and oftentimes as unfortunate as it was guts and glory went hand in hand. It had never bothered her partially why she could be a healer. That and of course knowledge of all kinds. Thistle had never lost a patient as of yet. Though she feared she might have lost Kennedy even if it was to his own mind.

She thought about his question had she really accepted them. She thought she had but in a way some of her reasoning was selfish. She thought perhaps that was not exactly a good thing. I have though in part for selfish reasons so I don't know if thats very good. I wish to coincide with you and our children though it is also nice to know someone more powerful than I is watching over all of us in a way.

Tomorrow the babies are born! Eirikr is ready to be out, lol and be bossy and stuff. Wrap this one up? :-)

Ragnar canted his head towards her, slightly, in a bird-like manner as she confessed that she considered part of the reason she had accepted them was selfish and then spoke that she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. Ragnar contemplated it in silence, if her being selfish was a bad thing in regards to their Gods. Her …fear — Thistle had not came out and said it, or even really expressed it; merely Ragnar assumed that was what it was — of how her supposed ‘selfishness’ might be perceived by the Gods reminded Ragnar, unbidden and rather unwelcome, of Nerian’s God. How he was strict and apparently unforgiving in the way he unequally lorded himself over those whom that were devout to him. “What is the selfish reason?” Ragnar asked because in what she had spoken to him he could not make out how either could be considered ‘selfish’. They were both good reasons to decide to become devout to the Gods. “It is ok to be selfish, my love. Our Gods understand because they are not so different from us.” He soothed her, finally, in case she had been worrying about it. It seemed a silly thing to Ragnar to worry about but he had grown up with his Gods. He had known them since before he could start hearing.

“Now let me sleep, wife.” He commanded her with only a slight teasing edge, butting his snout against her chin with a chuckle before he laid his head across her forepaws, feeling the exhaustion (and blood loss) weigh him down like a lead stone.

I know I want to write the birthing thread so badly you have no idea! ahhh

Thistle shook he head at him and the ease to which he could ease her fears at least about the Gods that he revered anyway. There were some things she knew he would not be able to ease ever. For instance the days he went on raids she would fear for him until he came home, or even if she was there she would fear for him. Though he was capable and strong there was always the chance one day. And no matter what he said about that she would always fear it, regardless if Odinn told him he would leave to a ripe old age. It was in her make.

Thistle chuffed at him in mock irritation Go to sleep then With a small smile she laid her head back across his back and shoulders and closed her blue eyes. Always willing to take a nap these days.