It ain't good enough to try and not succeed

*Ragnar* · May 12, 2014, 03:25 PM

Went ahead and assumed (and pp'd a little) that Thistle was taking care of his wounds. :p

Ragnar was not the kind of man to have been born to be idle, even when he was limping from the shallow injuries the bear had inflicted upon him, he still patrolled, still saw to his duties as Warden while making sure to keep a close eye on his wife who fussed over him in what the Viking still saw to be needlessly. She had slathered some kind of green, minty scented goop of paste on the claw marks the bear had left behind on his hip and leg, and while it dulled the stinging the movements caused and soothed the itchy and bothered skin it felt weird and several times he had deigned to scratch at it with his teeth and scrape it off of the tendrils of his fur and wounds though he had torn them back open the first time to the ultimate dismay of his wife who had waddled over to him, cuffed him on the nose and proceeded to slather more crap on his wound. Ragnar had been of the mind to tease her a few times, in that provocative way of his but his tiny Viking had, had none of it.

Whether it was her mood swings with her pregnancy or simply Thistle herself (without the mood swings) Ragnar found that he could not be sure.

As it was the Viking was on the search to gather her some lilacs, both in an unspoken apology for being as insufferable as he was when it came to healing his wounds (and given that Thistle was their only healer she was the one that got stuck with Ragnar) and because he had not forgotten his promise to her that he would find her some. His journey took him on the beach, a myriad of large paw prints showing where he had gone though the sea water rushed to wipe away, with each wave that lapped gently upon the sands, the evidence that he had been there at all. Though he was fairly sure he would find no lilacs here (though it wasn’t as if he remembered in vivid detail her descriptions of them or where he could find them, if that wasn’t blatant enough) he kept going figuring that he would stumble upon them, eventually.

Despite the confidence of that it was not the lilac bush he stumbled upon but rather a familiar figure perched atop the rock that Gavriil had seemed to claim as his own. Icy, oceanic colored eyes took in his hybrid leader with a small twitch of his lips into a smirk, noting that her attention was focused on something out at sea. Slowly, his course altered so he did not pass by her without at least offering a greeting, and partially because he intended to ask her if she could aid him in finding lilacs for Thistle (since he figured she was a female and knew that kind of stuff). “Pump,” He barked a greeting to her, limping to the side of Gavriil’s rock, figuring he might as well not even attempt to join her upon it, though it was big enough for the both of them to stand comfortably. While he was not immobile, and certainly not letting his minor injury slow him down any, he wasn’t up for rock climbing and thus deigned to stay upon the warm sands.