td {padding: 25px;}</style>
| Without the magnetism of his Gods drawing him to Ravensblood Forest, Ragnar wasn’t sure why he kept coming back. It was the second time within a couple of days that he had went to the once Godswood. Last time, though, he had merely been investigating, poking around the borders of Horzion Ridge to make sure his sister Hati hadn’t returned there. While Ragnar understood his baby sister was of the age to make her own decisions and nearing her adulthood as the months weaned on it wasn’t as if he could just turn off his protective instincts. Instincts that while once might have been big brotherly had begun to transition into fatherly despite that Hati had a father and didn’t need Ragnar acting as such to her. He couldn’t help it. He was nearly three years her elder and by all rights old enough to be Hati’s father (as it was he hoped his reproductive organs still worked as well as Sigurd’s and his mother’s when he was their age).
After concluding that Hati might have went back to Fenrir (though the thought didn’t seem to comfort Sköll) he had no real reason to be out this far. The activity around Wheeling Gull Isle had seemed to pick up since he had last been there though he, for the most part ignored them. They were far enough away now that they didn’t concern him (he was still passing his nosy-ness off as being an Outrider but he was in no mood to pick a potential fight with them over it). Today, explainable he had caught sight of the one eyed raven early in the morning. Odinn, and there was a pull, a inkling that whispered in the back of his mind that he needed to go to the Ravensblood. Needing no more encouragement than that the Viking had set out.
What he had found there was nothing short of unexpected to the scarred Northman having crossed the scent of his wife and second born in the forest. He supposed it wasn’t surprising and assumed that she was either taking him exploring or telling him of the …history of the place. At the very least it held significance to the Loðbrók couple. He had followed it, thinking that, if it was a history lesson, he might barge in and offer his own stories to entice their youngest son but slowed when he heard Thistle speaking in a quiet, gentle tone that sounded as if she were attempting to calm someone but had the distinct feeling based off of her word choice that she wasn’t speaking to Tveir. He shrugged through the last bushes and trees in his way, eyes of Caribbean ice studying the small black child Thistle’s attention was focused upon. She looked wet and frightened and thinking of his own daughter with a sharp pang in his heart Ragnar’s head lowered as he approached the scene (trying, if it was possible with his scars) to make himself appear less…threatening. "Hello," Ragnar mimicked his wife, glad that his voice was naturally quieted and soft lacking the boisterousness of many of his ilk. "What is your name?" He asked her as he moved to Thistle’s side, mindful of Tveir.
Was this what Odinn was signaling him too earlier? It appeared to be like he was, and if it was so it explained the subconscious tug towards the (even if subconsciously he’d probably just been tracking Thistle). |