The sun will always rise

He so torn it's cute,"

Their first night sleeping, Thistle had slept fairly well, not the greatest mind, but she had slept. Nightmares had still come, but they had not been too terrible this time, that she couldn’t fall back asleep afterwards. Ragnar had finally slept as well, though she strongly suspected it had not been fully deep. He had been gone as she had woken up.

Thistle had luckily not been near Nerian, granted the poor woman could not help it, but if Thistle had known she didn’t really know how she’d react. She felt bad that her children were not her husband’s by blood, but in her own defense he had not gotten to her fast enough, he could have. She strongly suspected she had started to become extremely fond of the Viking, the first time she healed him. And besides she had been extremely crazy in her heat season, and rather inexperienced, her mother had not told her, that the need to find someone to ease the burning would drive her momentarily mad. If she could change it, she would, but she couldn’t and she wouldn’t feel bad about the gift the plateau man had given her.

Thistle could not help the fact that she didn’t trust her husband fully, and it wasn’t even that she didn’t fully trust him. It was more along the lines of she knew how much he missed home, and Nerian was from his home and his former station, and she was not exactly an ugly wolf. So, if in a moment of weakness he needed something from home, there was the priestess, and she was easily accessible since she had already told him she loved him.

Thistle heard her name and she thought about continuing on, merely because she was warring within herself, and tended to be irritable to the one man that loved her when she was, but she couldn’t do that to him. She stopped and turned blue eyes towards him and gave him a small smile. She stepped forward to lick his muzzle, Good morning Ragnar.