Though Ragnar was sure that while the children might be able to hear even a little — this was purely a guess because they seemed much more vocal than they had initially been the previous week — he knew he could hear their yelps and cries of protest when Thistle or him switched, or when they were protesting when Ein, whom had a penchant for climbing and conquering his smaller siblings making Ragnar ridiculously proud because the conquering tendency was something they shared, squirmed over top of them. It was an easy fix to nudge the First Born off of his siblings to lift him by his scruff because while Ragnar felt pride he did not want the infant to accidentally suffocate one of his siblings. Ein couldn’t really be faulted considering he couldn’t see where he was going. Ragnar had to hold onto the hope that he would stop climbing his siblings like they were mountains once he was more visually aware of them; and considering Ragnar knew what it was like to be squished by his oldest sibling he felt sympathy for the Second Born and his daughter whose silver color had only gotten more beautiful with the days after her birth. It was a much darker shade than his own, more steel than it was platinum but that did not stop Ragnar from the entirely incorrect assumption that she was of his seed, at least (she isn’t but what Ragnar doesn’t know won’t hurt him) .
It was Ragnar’s daughter who cried out now, that was the small body trying to snake into his armpit and not Ein as the Viking had wrongly assumed at first. A confuse glance over his shoulder showed that Ein was wrapped around Tveir both snoring — though Tveir had the tendency to snore the loudest out of his siblings Ragnar had found. It was funny, in a warm fatherly kind of way, how the longer he got to know his children the little quirks he learned. Already, though they were only eight days old, they were beginning to distinguish themselves. They were tiny little things, unnoticeable to anyone but Thistle and himself (though this was obvious because Ragnar absolutely refused to let anyone near the den or to even see them until he performed the Rite on their one month age mark. The savage man lifted his leg so she could wiggle her way towards his chest and would not be stuck in the junction between his shoulder and his leg. Instantly the Viking princess began to make small whimpers, continuous. Trepidation came over Ragnar as he considered calling out for Thistle, mistaking the noises to mean she was hungry (Already?! Hadn’t Thistle assured him they had just ate?) but knew that Thistle had assured him all of their bellies were full. He glimpsed down as best he could at his little Gyda feeling nothing short of love for the precious little girl bloom and sear in his heart as he listened to her, ears slicking back to his skull, wishing she could speak so he might understand what she desired.