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Ragnar had been surprised not to find Thistle waiting at the borders for him, though he realized and remembered that she was heavily pregnant and such a welcoming sight would been stretching her limitations and had been a stupid expectation to begin with. She was probably sleeping he assumed as he crossed into the borders of Horizon Ridge, thinking that he would surprise her when she awoke. He did not move swiftly towards the den he shared with her, instead deigning to take his time with it, sorting through the details of the meeting, sure that she would inquire about it at some point or another. Honestly, it had not been long and Peregrine - Crete’s brother - had expressed no interest in the babes, more or less stating that they did not even exist to Crete’s family which was fine by Ragnar who had not intended for them to ever know about Crete.
As far as the Viking was concerned he could let sleeping dogs lie now and hopefully put Thistle’s mind to rest in regards to her poor mute lover.
As he approached he heard angry steps against the ground, and words. Words in Thistle’s voice. Angry words. Pausing just short of approach her he watched her pace, her tail whipping out behind her like a weapon, anger emitting from her as if it were a physical cloak she wore that was alive. He could not make out her words but her anger was definitive and for the moment Ragnar was ignorant that it was whole heartedly directed at him.