i dreamt you fed me blood pudding

Ragnar felt Thistle run her muzzle across his shoulder, across the ragged scar the landslide had left upon his skin, healed but left with the certainty that the fur would never grow back to cover it, her words a truth that Ragnar knew and had accepted and yet he still found them disappointing, nevertheless. As much as he yearned to leave right this instant, he knew that things didn’t work like that. He had Thistle to support him, and if he reminded her to whom owned her life Nerian, and maybe if he sought out his brother, Dagrún but he wanted more, just in case. Things would take time, and as she had pointed out - as he knew - the children would be in no fit state to be snuck out of the borders until they were at least a week or two old. That time would be invaluable if Ragnar was to make his move, though he understood the ramifications that it might bring to him and his family. Only more of a reason to get them out. “I know,” He did not need Thistle to remind him that if they were not careful they could lose all of their children just to the elements alone. He was not willing to risk the lives of their sons, but he would not wait forever, either. “I am done listening to excuses made for Pump. If she does not want to lose her position in the pack then letting me go should not be a problem for her.” As he had said previously, it was not the Ridge that he wanted anyway. He wanted Ravensblood Forest. He wanted freedom to practice his religion, to adhere to his culture exactly how it was expected to be done. He wanted a Viking pack, not Horizon Ridge.

For a moment, Ragnar considered telling her that if she couldn’t leave the Ridge, if she could not cut her ties with Pump and the ones that would not follow him then she, too, could stay. Ragnar was too selfish, and too far in love with her to tell her such a thing, because he did not feel the Ridge was safe for their sons, for his teachings. It was almost painfully obvious that Pump did not want him in leadership under her, and he was tired of being jostled around as if he were some placacent subordinate. A subordinate he might have been but it was not what he was born to be, and furthermore anything but placacent. Thistle’s snarl, loud in the breaking of the sudden darkness drew Ragnar’s attention from his thoughts and back to his mate with a touch of concern upon his muzzle, a furrow of his brows that smoothed when she spoke to a coy little grin. “She flirted with you?” Ragnar inquired cocking his head to the side as a raven would, his coy smile vanishing as he considered Thistle’s words with a delicateness, as if he were examining something extremely fragile in that moment - because in retrospect he was. “And did you return her lovers teasings?” His voice was as soft as ever, quieter if somehow possible as he struggled between if he found it humorous or enraging. Perhaps a mad mixture of both.

“Will you let her cause the rift she desires, my love?” The Viking could not help but ask, leaning forward to look Thistle in her dark azure eyes, the slope of his shoulders sharp and somehow seductive despite their harsh set. Slowly, Ragnar’s coy smile returned to dance like a forbidding lover across his lips, saccharine and devilish all in one. He was more than confident in the ability that Thistle loved him and further than that, confident that he could satisfy his Tiny Viking in ways that Diluculo could only dream of. Ragnar could give her pleasure, could give her children, could give her anything she wanted and dreamed of if only she asked it of him.