Ragnar nodded when she spoke that Sköll and her had not reached that point yet. He understood frustration very well despite the difference of their situations. She was frustrated because she and Sköll had trouble communicating as she learned their language and Ragnar was frustrated being a first time father of infant children he did not know how to handle. Perhaps more of them should have been caretakers so they received the experience of dealing with small children instead of just stumbling their way through it with trial and error until they got it right. “I didn’t match make Pump and Gavriil,” He corrected her with a smirk that withered into a terse line of his lips. Both of them were gone now, one had disappeared without a word or trace and the other was feasting in Valhalla with the great warriors that had come and died before. “Gavriil thought that he had loved Pump and disregarded all of what I told him in regards to how a woman like Pump needed to be approached on the subject of romance,” Without realizing it his tone had grown biting the more he spoke of Gavriil.
Ragnar had begun to consider the other Northerner a friend and his sudden abandonment of the pack stung like the resulting lash of a whip as it spliced open flesh. What ever friendship that had began to burn had been fizzled out when Gavriil had failed to return. Two weeks and still not a hide nor hair of him. At this point, to the platinum silver Viking the man was a deserter and a traitor. “But apparently he did not love her enough to stay.” He spoke with an icy casing to his normally soft and heavily accented voice. It rang cold and hard, like steel plucked from the depths of an icy sea. Ragnar was not so sure, if Gavriil came back that he would readily welcome him back into the pack …and if on some terms of not holding a grudge he did let the man back into the pack he would have to work hard to prove he could be trusted again. Ragnar might not have held grudges but he didn’t like traitors and deserters and there were some things you did not forgive easily.
“Of course there is. She is of my blood, wife,” It was a pompous sounding statement even to Ragnar’s ears as it left his lips. “And Floki’s blood is …well as pure as mine if not a little strange,” He chuckled, tone warming as he spoke of family and true friends. The change was nearly instant and almost disarming at it’s abruptness. As it was, he felt buoyant here and he did not want to ruin it with thoughts of traitors. “You keep saying that,” He teased her, as if he wasn’t aware that he was dangerous…or just what his smile could do to her; though he still waited for the ‘or else’ day she kept threatening him enigmatically with. “I know I do,” He shrugged almost arrogantly smirking at her before he snorted, rolling his eyes. “He was not the best father but he was a good one, and a good man and leader,” Ragnar murmured on the topic of his late father and with a sudden groan padded over to the border a little ways away from her, lifted his leg and relieved himself upon it. “And I was worried,” He jested before he gestured forth with his muzzle, glimpsing over his shoulder at her. “Come wife, we have much ground to cover yet.” And with those words he continued forth, pausing every so many paces to lift his leg and mark the borders.
