Ragnar listened when Thistle told him that she would not be this enraged if it had been his mother that had appeared at their borders, and the Viking shook his head not understanding why his failure to tell her of Dagrún had angered her so much. There were many things she had yet to learn of him, and other things that she would never know simply because Ragnar assumed that it did not matter here or there. It wasn’t as if the whole of Odinn’s Cove was going to suddenly appear at their borders pledging loyalty to Ragnar - though the way things were going, Dagrún was the second to come from the Cove, despite that the Shield Maiden Sveid was no longer around, it certiantly looked like that might be the case. Not that Ragnar particularly minded, if they did all relocate perhaps that would give him the support he needed to break free of Pump and the Ridge and inhabit Ravensblood Forest for his own and re-create the Cove.
The Viking’s grin was twitching and devilish at her laugh and smile at his wounded tone and recoil at her threat. There remained little doubt in Ragnar’s mind that even though she was angry with him, so much so that she felt the need to threaten him that he still held her in the palm of his hand. Quietly, cunningly the Viking studied her, observing, wondering what it would take to have her melting against him, her anger dissolved. That was the ultimate goal, currently.
He stood still then, as she slowly rose to her paws, an awkward movement given the extra weight she was carrying, like some iced and scarred Adonis as she approached, a contented noise leaving his lips when he felt her bury her face against his neck and then his shoulder. A breathless, intangible curse in Ragnar’s native tongue left his lips followed by a groan when she nipped at his shoulder hard, the pain mixing with pleasure in his body in some foreign and familiar dance within him. Her words, however, brought about the savage’s curiosity and softly the feral inquired,