It was beneath the sky - as crimson as fresh life blood spilled across the sky like an open wound that spread as far as the eye could see - that Ragnar watched the sun rise, spreading a golden fire over canvas of trees in Ravensblood Forest as Ragnar stood high upon the actual ridge itself using the landslide as an easy climbing path to give him the view of Huginn and Muinnin. So this is what it is like to see what Odinn does, The Viking wondered peaceably, as enjoyed the rise of the sun admitting that it was a shame wolves were not granted hollow bones and wings as well. If Ragnar had not been concerned for the Thistle and the babes - given her recent drop in energy and increase in exhaustion - he would have invited her to share in the view with him. What held the potential to be romantic if the savage possessed a single romantic bone in his body (he didn’t) was tainted by his thought of carnage and gore in his wife’s absence of presence. It was just Ragnar, his memories that stretched from his very first raid up to the night under the silver moonlight, upon Odinn’s consecrated ground and beneath the Allfather’s watchful eye when he had claimed a part of Thistle that could not be unclaimed. Varied as they were they held no real sense of purpose other than to remind him though for what for he did not know.
After a few more minutes of watching - a silent and scarred sentry lingering above the land enjoying his bird’s eye view - he reluctantly began his careful descent down the ridge using the same path he had followed to get to it’s top, finding it somehow more treacherous going down than up. Heights did not scare the Viking, in fact very little did, besides his growing affection for Thistle and his inherent lack of knowledge of what to do with his falling love because he had never loved any of his wives or even, remotely, been falling in love with them. He was still a falling morning star within him that had yet to crash into him. He feared burying a second litter and he feared the anger that it would bring within him at Odin (as it had the very time) with the potential of firing onto Thistle as it had Dagmar. But, so far, thanks be given to Freya and Frigg (which reminded Tokio she should do a sacrifice thread for that) things seemed to be going rather well and so Ragnar did not allow himself to dwell upon what could go wrong because the mental image of tiny little bodies covered in blood, absolutely devoid of the life they should have had was enough to make the Viking see red (similar to the rage he felt when he had consumed the drugged mushrooms for raids when he had led them as a Berserker).
It was on Ragnar’s way to the borders to pick up where he had left off that he caught sight of Diluculo, hackles bristling as he assumed a dominate posture watching as she began to swallow her catch what appeared to him to be whole. Bewildered, the savage watched her the word Viper screaming through his head without restraint. Indeed, her method of consuming her hare was rather snake like. A viper suited her, Ragnar thought with a soft snort. His words of warning spoken to Pump in regards to their newest member we hardly forgotten as Ragnar moved closer to her. He would teach her to respect him as her superior (because Thistle and him were the highest ranking wolves under Pump) and he was willing to push her past her breaking point to do it.
Spin your satirical words all you want, Viper, I will break you, The Viking thought whilst his expression remained stoic.