Ragnar had worked to make his trips back from Stavanger Bay where he worked on fortifying his claim upon it quick not forgetting that majority of his pack still resided there as well as the bloodthirsty bear that now haunted their lands. It made him nervous, despite the comfort he took from the Bay, to be apart for more than a few hours. He trusted in Thistle to take up the mantle in his absence and to take charge if something were to happen while he was gone. Ragnar didn’t know that anything would, but he didn’t know that, likewise, anything wouldn’t, either.
When he breached the scent markers of the Ridge, taking up the mantle he felt the crushing weight of his stress and the burdens he bore slam against his shoulders, his worries take up their routine places at the forefront of his mind as he, without any real conscious thought, made his way towards the rendezvous den that would soon, be entirely obsolete for the wolves. He had not had the time to carve out a new one in Stavanger, too busy with claiming it to do much else. He would make them a new one at the Bay in time, he told himself, once they were gone from the Ridge for good and he had some time to devote to it.
His icy Caribbean gaze fell upon his wife easily for she was sitting outside the mouth of the den peering up at the sky upon his approach. He chuffed to announce his presence to her as he drew nearer, relieving her of the duties he placed upon her in his absences.