Julooke’s face took a sour turn when he admitted that Dagmar’s litter had been aborted. She did not hold back when she inquired as to why it had happened and then a beat later apologized and told him that he did not have to answer it. He knew he didn’t, and frankly, he couldn’t tell her why other than what Floki guessed what had been wrong. “I do not know the Gods took them from me,” Ragnar admitted. “Floki, the Healer of the Cove…said she was sterile.” Ragnar couldn’t say if Floki’s judgment was correct or not. He didn’t know but there was no use in trying to figure it out. He had dismissed Dagmar almost as instantly, glad to be rid of her, and was more focused on his life at present than in the past. The past was important, of course, but he had a wife and children now, here, and they needed his attention and thoughts. Not a past conquest who had failed him.
“If you are sure,” He told Julooke, willing to stay and assist her if she needed it. After a moment he ripped off a chunk for Thistle though and tucked it to the side so he would not forget it. Ragnar offered Julooke a soft smile when she asked about the puppies though she used the word in his native tongue though her tone brought about her slight trepidation. “Yes, very good.” He praised her. It was a start. Languages were not learned in a day, after all.
