Ragnar assumed that Thistle spent much of her day napping and though he didn’t know - and would frankly never know - he generally figured that carrying growing lives within you would tire you out. Thistle appeared quicker than Ragnar had expected her too, the sound of her scrambling against the earth to get to the mouth of the den picked up by his ears as they twitched. A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat as he considered the idea that was generally - perhaps very - happy to see him as she came shooting out of the shadows, nearly slamming into him. The Viking side stepped her, not wanting her to collide with him in case she injure herself or the babes within her. “Careful,” Ragnar murmured to her before she spoke what she was all excited about following up with, “You clearly have missed me much.” He teased her in a haughty, arrogant manner but fell silent when she basically word vomited at him and then stood their panting as he attempted to process her what sounded to him to be a big long rushing sentence.
The words then began to separate themselves within his mind to make more sense than the initial rush had, and he looked at her sharply then, blinking a few times as he tried to determine if his minds translation was correct or not. “They are moving?” He asked, as breathless as her, seeing the excitement upon her face and allowing it to warm his heart. There was little doubt that she spoke the truth to him, her face told him everything. Dagmar had never spoken of their children moving (because they hadn’t been). For a moment Ragnar’s breath hitched in his throat and he took a few, rapid and shallow breaths. “They are living then,” He whispered as if he were afraid to speak any louder. His biggest fear was waking up to Thistle’s body aborting their lifeless bodies as Dagmar had because frankly, Thistle hadn’t been any bigger than Ragnar’s second wife.
He then took a step towards her and lowered his head to her womb, gently pressing the crown of his head against her rounded sides. “My sons,” He cooed, his thick accent more pronounced in his raw emotion, shifting so his muzzle was touching her womb, recoiling back sharply when he felt one kick, astonished, only realizing that he had not allowed himself much hope until that single and monumental moment.
