Ragnar was never far behind keeping a close eye on both Thistle and the borders as his wife took to patrolling them. He did not, for the sake of not wanting her to feel like he was being posessive or extremely overprotective of her, stray too near her keeping her out of his sights so that he, too, was out of sight to her. Though it made him nervous to have her so close to the borders, pregnant as she was - not to mention that while he affectionately reffered to her as Shieldmaiden she was not a warrior - but the Viking did not want to keep her from doing something she wanted to do. It was as he walked that the stench of something canine but clearly not wolf or fox - a telltale coyote - assaulted his leathery, black nostrils causing the Viking’s lip to curl back over his teeth at the rank stench. He had met a coyote that admittedly Ragnar had killed for stealing from the Cove’s caches, and it left an unpleasant memory in the savage’s memory. Platnium silver hackles bristled as he made a wide arc then, intending to come up behind Thistle and the coyote rather than barge right in, despite that every nerve in his body was screaming at him to propell forward and plant himself between his wife and the threat.
No, she was not his damsel in distress. She was his wife, his Shieldmaiden and Ragnar knew despite his overprotective instincts that were beating against his body like a demon attempting to get out, that he had to let her handle it.
Stealth despite his size was something that Ragnar was rather adapt at and so the feral man sunk to the ground admist a thick, darkened fortress of bushes that had convened there, fixing both of them in his icy oceanic stare. Weight shifted in anticipation, each muscle tensed and coiled back, ready to release at any given moment should Thistle be in need of him. Eventually, Ragnar could not stand it any longer, though he approved of how Thistle had handled the situation so far, and stood, shrugging through the brush tail raised above his back in clear sign of dominance as he slid to his fawn colored wife’s side, despite that Thistle was technically his superior. He attempted to take immediate charge as the Warden, though if she willed him too, he would back down. The strength of the stench gave indication that the coyote had slipped into their lands and the Viking’s gaze hardened.