Captives

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Jarl was not a translation to the Greek alpha, rather it was the equivalent of the English ‘Earl’ which in Ragnar’s complicated mind full of crossing translations (among other things) was basically the same thing as the title ‘alpha’. It translated to being the one in charge, the one who made the final decisions in the name of the pack. In the simplicity of it, it meant the same thing as ‘alpha’ with a lot more complications of how it got to be it’s equivalent in his language and in his culture. Ragnar didn’t need to be able to see the color of their skin to know that his grim words had struck home with them, he could see it in the supple way their bodies recoiled, the small ticks of fear and realization that everyone made, observed if only because the Berserker had been trained at a very young age to watch the movement of bodies on the battle field. Movements no matter how small tended to be a tell-tale sign of how they would move, where they would attack. It was training that had been hardwired into him and henceforth proved a hard habit he was unwilling to kill. The girl whose name he realized he still didn’t know, though he knew the male’s name only because she had spoken it to Ragnar when she had apologized for him, spoke that she promised never to do it again. Ragnar believed her, if only because she seemed to realize the severity as he intended, and the fear of death for wolves who did not look forward to it as he did tended to be a rather useful motivator. His gaze moved from her to the her companion wondering their relation or …relationship if that was the case (who was he to judge his wife was younger than him though not that young in reality) before deciding it was better, for now, he not take too much interest in their lives. They were his Captives and that was that. "What is your name, child?" Not that he intended to call her by it because that created a familiarity that he wasn’t willing to establish yet, still he wanted to know since he had the man’s name.