Sequoia Coast a king's ransom

At the sound of Julooke’s voice, reaching out in the distance between them to touch upon the little bones of his inner ears, greeted him the Viking turned and gave a start, his brow furrowed in curiosity and contemplation as his eyes of Caribbean ice took in her body. The woman was coated in mud; given that it was still a dark brown and sleek, glistening with moisture like the oil of birds’ feathers, he garnered that it was still fresh mud. Though her face failed to be entirely covered in it, there was evidence from where it had splashed up upon the fur there in the splattering of upon her fur. For a second, her words were disregarded as Ragnar tried to puzzle it out for himself how she had gotten to entirely caked in mud. It took him a few moments of studying her to come to the conclusion she must have slid through if only because her fur was smoothed back, laying neatly from away from her head and towards her tail as it would have if she had, indeed, slid through it.

A coy smirked toyed at the edges of the Viking’s lips in amusement as he regarded her with silent observation. “I see you battled a mud monster on the way,” The father jested as he thought that it was a game his children would probably soon be fascinated with. It was the same game he and his brothers had played when a mud puddle had presented itself to them like a gift from the very Gods they worshipped. There was something that was enticing about a mud puddle to a child, and, apparently in Julooke’s case adults as well. Ragnar could not claim that he felt that tug to romp around in one any longer, he was glad that someone could have fun in his place. As he grew, he had forgotten the innocence of childhood and the games that had kept him once entertained for hours. As a teenager he had women for entertainment, and duties in the place of play. “It would depend on your idea of interesting,” Ragnar murmured to her with a mischievous little grin stealing across his lips in the wake of the coy smirk. “On my end, no. Just marking more borders.” There was more and more. So many borders to urinate on and not enough urine in his body to tackle it all. At least, not by himself.