Horizon Ridge On a rush of angel wings

Aha, he can't help himself apparently. xP

In all realms of possible honesty Ragnar had rather forgotten that Ravensblood Forest, his frequent haunt and the holy lands of his God was where Thistle had consummated her secret tryst with the faceless stranger. Not that, in truth, it really mattered much to Ragnar aside from his random boughs of jealousy of which were expected when he had his eye on a female he fancied. By this point, if he were still home in Odinn’s Cove he would have gotten what he wanted out of the ordeal, would have sought it with a single minded energy and would, likely, have lost interest by now. Perhaps that was what kept Ragnar strung along, likely to Thistle’s ultimate dismay; the chase. It wasn’t that she was intentionally playing hard to get with him, no, she was too innocent for that Ragnar had conclude; but she was providing a chase nevertheless.

Thistle seemed to be broken from her train of thought when his voice had reached in and breached whatever daydreaming barrier she had put up around herself to block out everything else. “Is that so?” Ragnar breathed in a light, curious tone, lips twitching into a charming, perhaps mischievous little grin. “Good thoughts, I hope,” A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, as his tail flicked against his hind legs, scarred left ear swiveling back to catch the soft cry of a nearby robin as it flew overhead. “It is,” He confirmed, spurred into curiosity by the seemingly errant question. “Were you thinking of heading out?” He desired to ask her how she felt, she didn’t look bad per say but she didn’t look all that well, either.

“You are thinking of Kennedy again?” It wasn’t really a question though, more of a statement drawn by his remembrance of their last conversation. “Like I said, he needs time to come back emotionally. Not everyone likes scars, like me.” He spoke in slightly jesting tone before his expression darkened as his mood shifted back to seriousness. “You make miracles happen for physical wounds, Thistle, but there is no miracle for emotional wounds.” At least as far as Ragnar was concerned anyway. He desired to reach out and skim his muzzle against her cheek in a comforting gesture but resisted, holding himself back when his body made a funny lurching movement only to cover it as smoothly as he could by settling upon his haunches.