Horizon Ridge Sea without a Shore

By all rights Thistle had not been unfaithful to him, though Ragnar’s lie to the Plateau wolves had made it seem that way but Ragnar had only spun the deception because he wanted to see Crete pay for it, and since he could not track down the mute and slaughter him himself Ragnar had to do what he could with what he had to work with. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. Diluculo spoke again confirming she didn’t want to go near the babes and for some reason - perhaps the slight edge in her voice that eluded to her dislike of them - Ragnar believed her. “Our babes, hers and mine,” Ragnar corrected her with the narrowing of his icy, Caribbean blue eyes at Diluculo’s words. She insinuated that the babes were his, though he had a high suspicion that she was being sarcastic about the matter if only because that was what the Viking had come to expect from her. Nothing but sarcasm, which to her disadvantage, would make it hard to take her seriously when that time came. Given that Ragnar had taken Thistle before their mateship, during her heat season but after Crete (obviously) they could have, in all fairness of Ragnar’s delusions been his by flesh and blood. Of course, Thistle and him had kept their shared night hush, hush - no one but the two of them knew of it.

Again, Ragnar took her last words to be sarcasm, no doubt eluding to the disjointed raven that marred the flesh on the left side of his face and ear, to the smaller scars on his muzzle. Ragnar had been handsome, once. Maybe he still was, if no one looked at scarred half of his face though each of those marks done by Floki in honor of Odinn had been intentional and wanted by the Viking. Merely to humor her the Viking spoke with a slow and lazy smirk, “We shall see.” Who his babes looked like didn’t matter to him - so long as they were strong and healthy. That was all that truly mattered to Ragnar.