Ragnar might have been Julooke’s superior but he wasn’t a dictator nor a tyrant (that probably depended on who was asked) and he held no intentions of telling her what to do with her kill. In the end it was her prize and he would not take any more of it than she would allow him. For taking some of the venison to Thistle he wanted Julooke’s permission without actually coming out and asking for it because Ragnar didn’t ask for permission. At least, never out right. Ragnar took Julooke’s answer to imply that she didn’t mind Ragnar taking some to Thistle, later, and nodded firmly once. He eyed the small section he wanted for Thistle, almost wishing the children were old enough to consume regurgitated meats because there were so many delectable things he wished for them to try. In time, he knew, and time required a certain amount of patience.
He had joined his subordinate in dining on the catch, eating until he, too, was full, stretching out into a sphinx like position on the opposite side of the doe’s body. A yawn threatened to escape from the Viking but he bit it back and hid it to the best of his abilities. A contented silence followed for a bit as their stomachs settled from the meal, and Ragnar cleaned off his muzzle with his paw for a few seconds though the action would prove to be futile. His muzzle would only end up bloodied again when he tore of a hunk of meat to take to Thistle for dinner, later. It wasn’t that Ragnar minded being covered in blood or gore — it was something he had gotten used too a long time ago — but he felt pressed to clean himself up a bit when in the company of the fairer sex even if he was no longer out to impress or boast his physical prowess. Of course, the scars on the left side of his face had stolen the full force of the handsome creature he had once been, the unmarred right side of his face nothing more than a tease; old habits tended to die hard.
Julooke claimed his attention when she rolled upright, suddenly to the Viking, broaching her subject with his name, though the question she asked took the savage off guard. It wasn’t as if he ever expected it to come up and Ragnar, at that, did not understand what had inspired Julooke to ask about it, regardless. For a moment he stared at her, brow furrowed before he snorted at her with a shake of his head and smirked coyly at the woman before him.
The love story of Ragnar and Thistle Cloud could scarcely be considered romantic but not all love stories could be the things of fairy-tales. It was what was realistic for the both of them. Not ideal to some but it worked.