Horizon Ridge On a rush of angel wings

That's fine by me. :-)

Ragnar’s mornings often started early, earlier than the sunrise and ended typically past sunset. His patrols were taken like clockwork, deviating now and then to do an extra sweep if he found it to be necessary. From his morning patrol he usually ventured to spend some time within the catacombs of trees that encroached and created Ravensblood Forest, a territory he fully believed was sacred to Odinn. His activities there often varied ranging from hunting to merely a form of meditation, mental and physical preparation for what he felt was becoming more and more inevitable as the time worn on, though the Viking did not deign to worry about it all too much presently. There was still a long way to go before he took action upon what seemed impossible to avoid.

He had paused on his trek back to the Ridge from the Forest, craning his neck back to glimpse at the shrinking scab that still clung to his shoulder. The muscles beneath the fur there jumped with the inane urge to itch and skimming his teeth over it he chewed at it for a bit, confident that it was nothing but a scar now. The warm morning air rushed to kiss over the shiny, smooth and pink patch of skin that cut through the fur of his shoulder blade exactly as he had knew it would be: a scar. Smoothing his tongue over the fur in a manner that resembled a cat for a few moments he, feeling relatively better now, walked over the scent barriers, wondering if he should take a brief dip in the sea to let the salt water cleanse his fur a bit before he decided against it, heading instead to one of the caches to check it feeling like he needed to celebrate the healing of his previously infernal wound with a hunting spree.

Ragnar felt a small measure of surprised, with no real reason in truth, when his eyes fell upon the fawn colored Thistle sitting near the cache her eyes holding a vacant stare that alerted him to the fact that while she was seeing him she likely wasn’t as well. “Thistle?” Her name left his lips in his soft, heavily accented voice attempting to draw her wandering attention back to if not him than the situation. She seemed different, though something he would contribute to the likely factor that she was pregnant. For a dark moment there was a swell of jealousy within his breast, accompanied by the thought that it could have been his children she carried within her womb before he chased it away. It was likely his infatuation with the girl was only because she was pretty and he liked pretty things and then his interest would wan because that was how it always went.