Ragnar snickered from beneath her when she cuffed him in the ear with her paw, a quick strike like a cobra’s. It didn’t necessarily hurt but his ear flicked in response rapidly a few times, nevertheless. It was fun to toy with her, fun to push her to see how far she would go before she’d finally had enough of him or until she gave into him and gave him what he was after. Preferably the second option if he had any say in the situation. As it was, he infuriatingly thought that he didn’t but he would try, anyway. If just to keep the game afoot. Ragnar was unsure as he watched her if her sigh came from her thoughts or the fact that he was probably frustrating her beyond her limitations and then found, with another lazy smirk that he didn’t care. She was amusing to watch, with her brow furrowed in her concentration. Thistle moved them, her body releasing his as she shuffled after her scattered weeds and quickly he pushed himself to his paws, shaking the dirt off his coat as he studied her stance, her tail tucked securely between her legs. He let out a frustrated breath himself, knowing that unless she moved her tail (though he could try to coax her into moving it for him) he wasn’t getting anywhere.
Women were so infuriating.
He leveled a stare at her as she turned to face him, the weeds gathered in her mouth, his refusal clear on his face. She would have to try to outwit him again, though her last tricks would not work again upon him. Figuring he now held the advantage he simply smirked at her again.