Ragnar simply stared at Nerian, torn. The idea of owning a slave had never been something he had nurtured even when he was a young Berserker and nothing more but the Jarl’s son and then when Björn took over, the Jarl’s brother. It still uninterested him in most manners, though he found it useful only to call upon her if he would need her to help him found a pack, a revised version of the Cove in these Wilds as Ragnar had always planned to do since Odinn had sent him out upon this journey. “Have I not always taken care of you, Priestess?” The Viking asked the woman, if only because he was not ready to relinquish his hold on her, afraid that the moment he did that she would run, or turn against him. Such a thing would not have surprised Ragnar, who was clever and understood what she was saying even if he pretended otherwise. He also understood that there were certain consequences for freeing her and ones that he was not yet ready to face; even as it occurred to him that his hold on her might not be acknowledged in the Ridge, that surely Pump would not allow Nerian’s single handed devotion to her master even if it was only because he “owned” her and nothing more.
“Your sins,” Ragnar hissed the word, though it sounded foreign and strange on his tongue, heavy with his accent as it was, though in truth, the word itself held an enigmatic meaning at best for the Viking. There was no such thing to his Gods and they did not stop loving you just because you did something “wrong” though the Pagan’s did not seem nearly as strict as Nerian’s own “God”. “What sins, Priestess? What have you done that is so wrong, hm?” The Viking asked canting his head to the side in a manner that resembled a bird, his eyes as demanding as that of a raven’s. What little Ragnar knew of her religion was only from what she had chosen to share with him, though it was enough to make Ragnar realize that he didn’t like Nerian’s God much. Neither did he make much sense to Ragnar no matter how many times his Priestess attempted to explain things to the Viking.
“Because I wanted answers, because I knew you wouldn’t go,” He wanted, though, to see it for himself, despite that she had her best chance to run back home when he had left the Cove. “Why are you really here, Priestess? You could go to the others and have them wash your soul,” Not that Ragnar was still all that certain on what a ‘soul’ was but it seemed pretty important to her, adamant as she was that everyone - even he - had one. “What do your sins have to do with me?” The only thing Ragnar could figure was that he was tied to her by whatever sins that lured her all this way, back to him, was because he had taken her as his slave. Did that mean, then, if Váli had taken her as his slave instead that she would shadow him around and ask for the cleansing of her soul?
The Viking watched, stoic, as his Priestess moved closer to him, and then against him. Though Ragnar did not, in turn, jerk away, the muscles beneath his coat pulled taunt as he glimpsed over his shoulder to watch her, ears slicking back to his skull when she nipped at his tailbone, the small divot where his tail met his torso. She rounded him, he watched, and rubbed herself against his other side then, their scents mingling together, the contact and teasings unfamiliar to Ragnar who had come to accept her celibacy long ago. Her “God” was her husband and her body was pure for him. It had seemed stupid, still did, to deny yourself carnal pleasure for a God that would never touch you. Maybe that was the point, it had occurred to Ragnar before as it did now, but it still seemed stupid. Her question was odd, light and teasing and for the moment the Viking returned her smile with a lazy, slow smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. “No.” He murmured to her thickly, simply.
No, he was hardly afraid of her.
