To consider that Ragnar and Gavriil had formed some sort of platonic relationship — in much simpler terms a friendship — was a strange thing for the silver Viking to consider because he did not trust wolves enough to make friends; or on the other side of that wolves didn’t like him and wanted to give him as wide a berth as they could. Perfect. For a moment Ragnar mulled over the word, strange sounding even though he understood well enough what it meant and in which way Gavriil was using it for. Ragnar was perfect for Thistle and vice versa had been what Gavriil had said and the Viking moved on to marvel the word perfect of that context. were they perfect for one another? It was true that Ragnar was certain that Odinn had fated their union but did that make it the equivalent of perfect?
As Ragnar’s icy eyes moved from Gavriil, allowing him to daydream once more — for it had been hinted at and Ragnar suspected that the Delta’s wandering thoughts were on the lady who occupied them the most he glimpsed around them on the shore, feeling the warm sand squish between his toes, letting the gentle lull of the calm sea soothe him for a few moments before his attention could stray too far; it snapped back to Gavriil.
Their conversation drifted to the children and Ragnar’s lips pursed tersely for a few moments before he decided to let Gavriil finish. Once he was sure the other male was finished speaking — apparently a lot of the Ridge’s wolves were eager to see the children — Ragnar’s lips parted to speak.