Initially, Ragnar had not been asleep, despite that his eyes were closed and his breathing was no longer labored but peaceful, calm. Though his heavy eyelids stole his sight he could feel Thistle settle down and curl up against him where he had more or less plopped onto the earth in a rather ungraceful sort of collapse, not wanting her to know that his legs felt weak again. He could not show weakness to her, if only because it was in his blood. He was the husband, the protector - and there was no room for illness or injury in those duties. Ragnar reclined upon his side then, shifting his position as he stretched and sort of curled around her in turn, peeking his eyes open to groom her cheek with a few strokes of his tongue against the silken fur he found there before he nuzzled his muzzle beneath hers, similar to the way a human might rest his head against his lovers chest to sleep just to feel the certain intimacy it required to sleep in each other’s arms - just holding one another.
It was only then that the Viking’s breaths became slow and even as he finally fell back under the spell of slumber.