in my dreams we are always together

*Ragnar* · (This post was last modified: May 11, 2014, 01:13 PM by Ragnar.)

:D

Most of the days Thistle was sleeping and if she wasn’t sleeping she was running out to pee frequently, unless she chose to sleep outside the confines of their den which she, admittedly, would spend likely most of the two weeks after the birth of their sons chained too. Thistle was also, frequently moody and still irritatingly and seethingly tempting too close to the scent of her when she had been at the apex of her heat season until sometimes Ragnar felt like he might literally combust into flames from the heat that pooled in his loins and that crept through his veins until his blood literally sung with his desire for her that, alas, could not be fulfilled. He contemplated staying away from her, sleeping his old abandoned bachelor’s den until she finally gave birth to their sons and that scent went away (because on his good days it drove him mad) but there was something that physically hurt in the heart of the Viking that had presumed to have been non-existent by numerous creatures at the thought of being away from her when she needed him. Of course, he was absolutely helpless to her, but he liked to fancy that she needed him there.

He dealt with it because of her, for her.

Ragnar watched her melt into a robust and very pregnant shape from the shadows, her face tired. A primitive sort of noise, not quite a growl of pleasure, but not quite a grunt escaped Ragnar when she gave him a brief lick and nuzzle of greeting. “Yes,” Ragnar responded to her question, leaning down to nudge apart the fur so it unfurled itself at their paws, revealing the three bones where they lay nestled in the wide leaf’s center. “This one,” He let his paw hover over the blood painted one with Sparrow feathers with his paw briefly, “Is a talisman for Freyja, painted in blood and marked with Sparrow tail feathers for decoration.” He gestured with a paw to the bleached white one. “This talisman is for Frigg, bleached white by the salt water of the ocean, marked with the tufted feathers of a Falcon.” He saved his favorite for last, the one that marked their union, meant for her alone. “And this last one here, with the roses,” He glimpsed at her face for this, wanting to see her reaction. “is for You alone. Traditionally, it is given to the family of the bride to symbolize a union between families in my culture, a bribe to ask permission but given our circumstances I instead made it for you. A symbol of our union, of our love and our family,” He ached to reach down and touch her at that, wanting to emphasize his love with touch, but restrained himself. “I’ve never asked your favorite flowers so I chose three red roses, the blood red the vibrant and never dying fire of our passion.” He murmured in a husky tone, his lips twitching with the coy grin he itched to allow to spread across his muzzle.