He was not, initially, there to make judgments based upon the Plateau’s delegate random and rather sudden appearance at Horizon Ridge’s borders, and yet judgments and assumptions were being made, regardless. What else would cause her to be there if not for the secret and unlawful tryst between Thistle and the Plateau’s Crete. His name was still thought with razor edged spite that still caused envy to rear it’s ugly head within Ragnar’s chest though he tried not to think about it. Yet, the Viking could not help it. Thistle and his mateship was not founded on love, and the savage was left wondering if she was thinking about him - her one night lover when she was silent, her eyes distant. Perhaps she wasn’t, but there was always the chance that she was and that bothered Ragnar more than he cared to admit. The ebony Plateau wolf returned his greeting and the Warden was silent and stoic as she introduced herself and got straight - a quality he admired - to the point of her visit.
And like a viper that finally rose and struck out at him there it appeared. It. His name. Crete. Tail flicked errantly behind his hind haunches in controlled irritation. There was no part of Ragnar that felt any measurable sort of relief that his suspicions were proven correct. However, it seemed like such a long ago thing - why was the Plateau only now sending out a envoy on the Crete’s behalf?
Again, that was not something Blue Willow needed to know. Ragnar’s discontent was not with her - nor her pack - just Crete.