For a few silent and world stilling moments Ragnar closed his eyes to the touch of his wife’s tongue against his muzzle, her attention moving to his scruff where he felt her teeth lash through the silken tendrils of fur there tugging upon it, simply reveling in it. It was only when he no longer felt her nipping at his flesh did his eyes open to find her sitting in front of him, much closer than she had been to him previous. The proximity was nice. “I wasn’t saying kick them out of the pack I only said make them have their own dens,” Ragnar defended himself in a grousing manner but he didn’t mean it with any kind of seriousness, for the most part. The feel of Thistle tucking her head beneath his chin was meant to be comforting Ragnar knew and so he drew comfort from it. Floki was a man capable of making his own decisions in life. No one could force him to leave Odinn’s Cove just as much as no one could force him to stay if he wanted to leave. That choice and freedom belonged with Floki. As it was, Ragnar was surprised that so many of the Cove wolves had came to find him. When he had set out on Odinn’s decree it had been with the knowledge and the acceptance that it was a path he walked alone for the All-Father.
“Do not be. We each have our own paths to walk, our own Fates. I am honored that I got to know him and had a loyal friend in him since we were children,” Ragnar had long ago accepted that just because he wanted something didn’t mean the Gods were going to give it to him. “In a way…he has Floki’s healing abilities and he looks like him except his eyes. They are Helga’s fiery eyes, but no, Sköll is his own.” The resemblance was obviously there, of course, but just as Ragnar resembled Eitri they were not the same creature and in that more different than they were similar. “The worry never goes away. I still worry about Týr and he has to be entering his official adulthood by now,” Meaning he was nearing being able to reproduce. It was obvious Sveinn could very well take care of himself but that did not lessen those misguided and ill founded parental instincts/fondness Ragnar had developed for the captured Amazon boy. “I know,” Ragnar purled into her ear with a coy grin accompanied by the mischief that danced in the icy, oceanic depths of his eyes.
