in my dreams we are always together

Thistle’s glare was nothing short of mocking at his wrong use of the word ‘flowers’ in the place of ‘medicines’ or even, ‘herbs’. While the Berserker turned Jarl was not as ignorant as his teasing certainly made him seem, it was worth it to hear her patronizing tone, her exaggerated sigh with having to correct him. As Thistle suddenly burst into laughter - the hard, uncontrollable kind that had his wife snorting he gave her a wolfish grin, only able to imagine what she had been envisioning, though he had a pretty good idea given her following words. “You have that all wrong, my love,” Ragnar cooed to her coyly, and if he had known she had envisioned Floki as ‘big and burly’ Ragnar might have laughed himself. As it was Floki was not a ‘typical’ Viking; tall but thin and lanky, still dangerous in a fight but missing the thick and broad expanse of muscle most of the Northmen had. “As if I would ever allow anyone to do such a thing to me,” Admittedly, Ragnar remembered that he had once offered for Thistle to mount him, threw it out there as a suggestion albeit one his wife did not seem keen on taking, and with that Ragnar had let the little erotic vision go.

Ragnar glanced out at the horizon, still fresh with the rising of the sun, the morning wind carrying a coolant factor that breezed through the silken tendrils of his platinum silver fur comfortably. He titled his head to her, so he might catch her next question, but he settled upon his haunches on impulse and rose his hind leg to scratch at his scarred left ear, unable to avoid the crawling skin there begging for a scratch any longer. “Some,” It was a vague answer only because it was a personal choice and beyond that it hurt and there was always the risk of an infection, plus some wolves were incredibly vain creatures - Váli came to the forefront of Ragnar’s mind at that thought - and did not want anything that could be considered ugly to marr their good looks (though as far as Ragnar cared he was the best looking one of Eitri and Kenna’s litter scars included, thankyouverymuch). “It’s not something every one is able to handle,” To be injured in a fight or spar was one thing but to intentionally let someone do that to you well, it damn near made you a masochist.

In a stretching action Ragnar then lowered himself further so he was laying down at her side, facing her rounded sides with a smirk upon his face before he touched his black, leathery nose gently to her right flank, his forehead flattening to press lightly so as not to harm her or the babes within. Ragnar yearned to feel them move under his touch again, yearned to feel the assurance that they were still living in there, though he felt that she was still growing - impossibly; but maybe it was just a trick of his mind. “Good morning, my sons,” He spoke, unsure if they could hear him, or even understand him but that didn’t matter much to Ragnar.