It was nearly a week that their children had been born into the world, and while Ragnar wished he could spare more time to allow Thistle to venture out of the den for more than a few moments of the time he could not offer her as much time as he had wanted too — and even if he didn’t there wasn’t anything he could do for them if they needed to feed (as to which apparently they did a lot). Ragnar tried to compensate for this where he could, sensing his wife’s frustration at being cooped up all the time, by relieving her when he could and when the children were sleeping filling her in on the day’s events even if they were not what Ragnar would have considered important. Today, however, was a different matter, the words he had to take to his wife were nothing short of grim and of what he felt was an importance despite that he was only running off of suspicions and assumptions; his gut told him that he was right short of not having any sort of tangible proof.
Ragnar had not even realized his body had been tense, the muscles beneath his scarred, platinum silver coat pulled taunt and as tight as a wire until he saw Thistle emerge from the den and he felt his body relax, the muscles uncoiling …if only slightly. He was still unnerved, irate, and beyond that bluntly annoyed that he had to extend his patrols to cover the shore line when before it had been entirely unnecessary. There was no scent markers along the beach to claim it as theirs because until recently there had been no need — no one expected wolves to come into their claimed lands through the sea but Ragnar was far too vigilant and far too suspicious to play it off as anything less than what it was: a threat. Despite that he had no proof it was still a possibility and still a threat to the pack, to his wife, to his children. In a brief moment as he watched his wife approach he felt nothing short of resolute frustration wanting to perform the Rite right there and now so that if someone were to come in and slaughter his children he could do something about it. As it currently stood, without the Rites to protect them, he could not take revenge if something were to happen to them at the jaws of a wolf. He had yet to acknowledge them as part of Horizon Ridge, as part of his family to the Gods and thus they were unprotected by him and by the Gods. It was possibly the worst thing in the world Ragnar felt, facing this new pack, he assumed, lording too close to Horizon Ridge. As it was, things had to be done right, Ragnar knew that.
He leaned into her kiss, and further the touch of her as she nuzzled his neck and for a moment he put his concerns and worries and anger behind him as he watched her sashay past him with a glint of appreciation in his eyes. There was little doubt in the Viking’s mind that if he allowed her Thistle could make him forget about everything that bothered him, everything that ate at him …if only for a little while; but this wasn’t that kind of time. He shifted then to face her, desiring to close the small gap between her and draw her close, to touch and hold her but he restrained himself for the moment. She did not speak and Ragnar took it as his initiative to go ahead and begin.