Ragnar might not have dared to call his ability at being observant a talent because he believed that anyone could be observant, that is was an essential part of the most basic of survival. For him, at the very least. Thistle’s sigh was an odd mixture of what he deduced to be pleasure and wariness, leaving the Viking unsure of which he wished to focus upon. His experience with women left him with the understanding that there was not an aspect of her that was not of equal importance and that each should be catered too. Something about a happy wife is a happy life. His ears cupped towards her as she spoke, and he leveled a stare as she more or less stated that she was useful only for Healing and nothing else. “I encouraged the idea because I do not want your attention away from our children,” He reached down to nuzzle at her neck, realizing that perhaps he had been wrong in speaking for her. The idea of clearly becoming indisposed upset her and in a rare form of humanity the Viking felt a bubble of remorse in his chest for nurturing the idea that there should be other healers besides Thistle. “Then earn the trade title, become the Head Healer so they answer to you,” He suggested to her. “The moment you are indisposed of is the moment we leave this Ridge. Do you think I would allow that to happen, wife?” He asked her, a little more roughly than he had meant too, admittedly.
Ragnar’s romantic advice probably was not the greatest, and admittedly he should have started out on a different approach with Gavriil in the hopes that the other man’s ego would not get in the way of rationality and logic but he hadn’t and maybe it had, maybe it hadn’t. Ragnar’s previous relationships had begun and ended at the Viking’s own discretion. Because he had grown bored with the loveless-ness between his previous conquests and himself until he was left with the determination that he was the sole problem. They had all been beautiful, captivating in their own ways and it had been decidedly fun while the lust was strong and coupling passionate until it faded into …nothing. No feelings, no lust, just blank, empty, nothingness. It was then that Ragnar would send them, used and likely upset, on their way. “No, I have not heard from Gavriil since,” As to which could mean that it worked very well and in the other man’s excitement he had forgotten to report back to Ragnar, or it had went very poorly and he was avoiding Ragnar either out of assumed humiliation or anger at the Viking. Presently, it remained a mystery and one that the Head Warden was in no hurry to involve himself in further.
He did not care enough about other wolves to shove his nose into their business further than was necessary.
“Don’t you remember?” Ragnar teased her, mocking her as he moved to circle her, his icy stare fiery and predatory-like. Ragnar was nothing short of a man and like most men he enjoyed the carnal pleasures his wife could give to him. Had made him swear, literally on his life, that he would not seek them out with other women. “You told me if I ate your weeds,” The word was a low growl in his throat. “That I could have you if I was gentle. It was a trick. You knew your weeds would knock me out,” And they had before he could make good on his wife’s offer. “But there is no need to be gentle now,” As he glided against her opposite side, his body brushing against hers, his muzzle near her opposite ear, “And I want you.” He whispered into her ear, smirking at her, though unless she looked at him from over her shoulder, as he recoiled just as quickly and began to circle her slowly again, she would not be able to see it upon his face. His smirk might have been nothing more than wolfish but his desire was very real.
