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Ragnar had not gotten Thistle her bouquet of lilacs as he had originally set out to do after he had wrapped up his slow patrol before even the sun had risen. He had been on his search for these apparently rare - for surely they were rare that he had yet to stumble upon them (likely not, he just didn’t have his wife’s talent for that kind of stuff) - flowers that his wife liked so much when he had ran into Pump and from that things had changed. A lot of things had changed for definitely what the proud Viking thought was for the better. While he had began setting the ball in motion for his own pack he had also hoped, in a small part of his mind, that Pump would finally clear the matter of the Second In Command so he knew where to more actively pursue those interested in assisting him in raising a Viking pack or to put it on hold for better circumstances. There was reward in patience, and power in wisdom of this he had come to see clearly when Odinn had taken possession of his body (even if no one else believed that it had happened). Odinn had opened Ragnar’s eyes, allowing for a sliver of insight and infinite wisdom that the Allfather held. Ragnar was quietly pacified with the little bit that the Allfather had gifted him with wisdom wise but, as always, as Odinn himself did, he always thirsted for more. He would sacrifice his eye - more, even - if it meant knowing. Curiosity was a good thing in measures but for the silver Viking it was like a parasitic hunger; always wanting more. This, he needed to instill in his sons when they came into the world. To nurture their curiosity always but to never let it control them. He wanted them to learn from his mistakes.
Even as Ragnar limped his way back to the birthing den, unable to help the smile that crept onto his lips as he thought that in a week, or even a few short days he would hear the small sounds of his sons, their cries, or the sound of them suckling even to fill their little bellies. It would be a welcome disruption to what had became settled and quiet. He heard the slow, rhythmic sounds of Thistle’s breathing and limped around the back of the den to pause and shake his head at his fawn colored wife who had seemingly crawled out of the den and was overcome with the need to nap. She slept a lot most days, which made Ragnar want so bad to speak with someone who had experience with pregnancy because he wasn’t sure if it was something he needed to be worried about, or not. Dagmar’s pregnancy had never progressed that far. For a moment, Ragnar deliberated with himself on if he should wake her to share his news with her, or allow her to sleep.
After a few moments of awkwardly standing there he decided that he would let her wake up on her own considering he had rudely woken her up after his nightmare not but a few nights ago. Not to mention he seemed to have gotten into the unnecessary habit of waking her up, period. He moved past her then, giving her a wide arch lest he decide to lose his balance as he limped and inspected the deer pelt that Dagrun had gifted them with so the children would have something soft to lay upon instead of hard earth. It had still been bloody when his half brother had gifted them with it and Ragnar had laid it out in the sunniest spot near their den to dry and tan.
After confirming that it seemed to be drying nicely and should be dry within the next day he shifted his weight, agitated and anxious knowing that he did not harbor the patience to wait.