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The children did not require Thistle as much as they previously had, their diet consisting of her mother’s milk and regurgitated meat — admittedly anyone could give them the meat though Ragnar let that up to Thistle to take care of. It wasn’t that he was squeamish against retching because that was far from the truth — any man who could rip open another wolf and tear out entrails and eat hearts (or any of the other gruesome things Ragnar may have done) certaintly wouldn’t be squeamish over regurgitation. So while he wasn’t squeamish it didn’t mean he couldn’t have a distaste for retching (which he did have a distaste for it). There was nothing stated anywhere that he had to like it. It was apart of the children’s life and would be until they were old enough to eat meat on their own and it was something he, accordingly, had to deal with. Much in the same manner he dealt with the Isle wolves. With unhindered disgust but he dealt with it nevertheless.
Knowing the children had already been fed for the morning — he had the usual feeding schedule down — he headed back to the birthing den. Soon, it would be too small for them though already it had begun to feel cramped with the five bodies that inhabitied it. Luckily, his rendezvous den was nearly completed and Ragnar saw no reason he would not have it finished before the Rites were performed in when he would move is growing family. Now that the children were mobile, could see and hear they needed more attention than they had when they had been newborns, being much more active. Julooke’s …and Gavriil’s since the male expressed an interest in assisting the couple, help would be appreciated by both parents though Ragnar though himself more so in particular because his attention could be focused more resolutely on his leadership duties. Not that his children weren’t important because they were the most important thing to him, as was his wife. Someday soon, though, they would come to learn that every one had to contribute to the pack including them and that duties could not be shirked just because a child was throwing a temper tantrum.
The sound of Thistle scolding one of the children became clearer though he had missed her words as he approached and slid into the mouth of the den where he positioned himself glimpsing down at the little, growing bodies, offering his family a trademark smirk as he contemplated just what kind of trouble the children were getting into. Or were intending on getting into.