The birth of his sons was close. Each day Ragnar watched Thistle struggle with their combined weight and size within her womb, exceeding their limits until Ragnar nearly feared they would tear through her sides like ravage beasts. Of course, this was just an imagination - they would be delicate, helpless and quite harmless for the first few months of their lives, Ragnar knew. Ragnar had all but forgotten about Crete, his meeting with the Plateau wolf’s Alpha and brother over with, and in this forgottenness had convinced himself that the pups were his by blood as well as by claim (even though they would not be his by blood and flesh). With Freyja and Frigg appeased, the Viking no longer feared a difficult birth for Thistle, confident that Freyja and Frigg would assist Thistle as invisible (for rarely did they ever allow mortal to see their forms) midwives. Odinn’s possession had been a phenomenal and terrifying thing for Ragnar who could feel a piece of the Allfather lingering within his soul where the God and mortal had joined. Perhaps that had been the Allfather’s plan all along - to give Ragnar a part of him to ensure that Ragnar reached the ends he was ordered to achieve, no matter what. As it was, Ragnar felt altered within himself, a new song thrumming through his veins, even if he did not understand what it was Odinn had gifted him with besides power. Not the power of a Jarl but the power of a to-be King.
Pump’s suspicions were correct. Ragnar would not settle for the Beta rank long before wanting absolute power. But he did not want the Ridge - not really. He wanted to scoop up those that would become a Viking and create anew in Ravensblood Forest. His connection to the earth there - holy to the savage man - was deeply rooted and he wanted it before another came in to take it. Yet, how was he to find support in such a short measure of time? He would never be able to make the move in time before Thistle’s birth and then there was the inherently and rooted problem of Pump. She could not stop Thistle without, likely, killing her or the babes but she had dictated that they were to stay until they were two -- which Ragnar had a suspicion would not go over well with his sons when they were old enough to understand their sentence of what he likened to perdition.
Odinn would see him through the obstacles, along with Ragnar’s own cunning and intelligence; he did not solely rely upon his God for all of the answers knowing that he had to find his own way. It had always been that way, and Ragnar reveled in the challenge. His walk along his patrol route was slowed, captured as he was by his thoughts, though his attention was not totally side tracked. He was always alert in some manner, ears perked and twitching as he processed the noises, nose inhaling each and every scent, dissecting them to see if anything was amiss. His eyes traced the path before him with an absence but he did not often rely upon his eyesight. Eyes could deceive, and Odinn could see more with his missing eye than Ragnar could with his own two. It was instinct - gut feeling, scents and sounds that he relied upon the most.