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As per usual Ragnar had came by the den to relieve Thistle for a few minutes, or an hour or so if she wished, allowing her the time he could so she could get out, stretch her legs, soak up the sun or hunt for herself; Ragnar wasn’t privy as to what she did when he came to give her a break from the infants and did not ask because women were allowed their secrets (as long as she wasn’t seeing another guy! That was one secret in which she was not allowed, lol); though he was certain Thistle would tell him if he were ever to ask. Ragnar tried to time his turns to watch the children after they fed so they were not wailing their little heads off for food that Ragnar was not able to procure for them and while part of Ragnar could not wait until they began eating regurgitated meat (it would make watching them measurably easier) he did not wish them to grow up too fast, instead enjoying being able to measure their daily growths. Already, eight days after their birth they were more mobile than they had been and though Ragnar couldn’t be certain he thought that maybe they were beginning to hear sounds if not faintly. He was not well versed in the development of children, knowing that only they were deaf and blind at first but he thought their hearing progressed faster than their eyesight (since technically hearing was more important).
He shimmied his body into the den, shoulders brushing the ceiling as he army crawled into the depths where it expanded and opened up to better accommodate him and his small family. They would not be able to stay in this den forever, especially when the children began growing and already he was, more or less secretly, working on a rendezvous den to accommodate the growing children, Thistle, and himself. He had not yet told Thistle he was renovating and working on it because, in part, he wished for it to be a surprise for her; and had begun making decorations for it for both Thistle and the children collecting bones and furs to add to it. He grunted as he pushed past Thistle, pausing to grin wolfishly at his wife, dropping a kiss on her hip as they pushed past each other and Ragnar settled into the place that Thistle had vacated, pausing to glimpse down at the three little forms before he settled into a sphinx like position. Tveir was fast asleep and seemed to snuggle against Ragnar’s colossal — in comparison — side. Ein was awake and had began to wiggle his way in between Ragnar’s arm pit (if wolves even have such a thing), and while he paid his First Born attention with a rumbling chuckle his icy eyes searched for his daughter in the squirming bodies hoping to catch the Viking Princess awake so he might get to have some of her attention, limited though it was, to himself.