Stavanger Bay All that glitters

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Sleep had been a miracle worker for Ragnar, sleep and the medicine that Sköll had given him to keep the building Berserker rage away, unwelcome and as unwanted as it had been. Ragnar chose not to examine it’s almost happening too closely because only the greatest warriors of Odinn’s Cove: Torstein, Ubbe, Ivar, Eitri, and even Dagrún (despite their youth) had been able to call the Berserker rage into themselves without ingesting the dried Berserker mushrooms. They were able to control it though and that was something, if the knock out fight he’d had with Thistle a few days ago was of any indication, that he couldn’t do and wasn’t ready for. It was a dangerous state of mind and without the knowledge that it would fade off, that it would be as uncontrollable as it had felt it would be as it had built within the prison of flesh and bone within his chest it had scared him. It scared him because he wasn’t on a battlefield and his wife, his love was not his enemy; if hurting her with words had been what had caused her to storm away then it was better than physically hurting her. Of looking at scars that he knew he would have caused. It also came to his attention in an uncomfortable way that three females were all in heat at the same time and that tension, though at the time underlining also didn’t help him any. The hormones Julooke, Nerian and Aine were putting off in waves caused an ache in Ragnar’s loins that made it even harder not to seek relief. He was grasping for control and he knew the other men of the Bay were, too, despite that Ragnar was confident Julooke would let no man but Verrine touch her, and that Nerian would let no man but Ragnar himself touch her. Those were brief thoughts of comfort but there was still Aine and all he could hope was she had more sense than to do something behind his back. If she did there was a good chance he would kill the children if only because he believed in punishments and Stavanger Bay, if Julooke and Verrine did decide to have children, would have plenty of puppies as it was. In attempts to tell Thistle that he was sorry for their fight — though he still disliked the compliments that made him feel like some sort of deceitful martyr — he had gathered her favorite flowers: lilacs, having actually found a lilac tree all by himself (something he was tremendously proud of himself for). She had them drying out at the mouth of their den and Ragnar figured that at this point she would come to him when she was ready to forgive him. With a soft sigh that did nothing for trying to dispel the hormonal invitation of the three Bay females in heat he continued on the borders wondering why it was the Gods laughed at him too often.