move on through

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Ragnar had waited for Nerian’s call, yet, it did not come. It was only because he remembered the pitiful, and likely near death state that the girl had been in when Ragnar had came across her close but outside of Stavanger Bay’s borders that the scarred Scandinavian had resisted from storming the Priestess’ den in what would have been a déjà vu to how he had captured her. A week had passed and still no summons. There were only two possibilities in which Ragnar could conjure: either the girl was better and Nerian was trying to keep him at bay from her because he had not decided on whether she would stay or not, or the girl was still very unwell in which case she would probably not be recovering and prolonging her life would only cause further suffering. He could not be sure which was the answer but did not give thought nor could he see any other viable possibility. It was with this knowledge in his mind that he set off towards the Priestess’ den determined to find out what was going on so he could make a decision and get on with his life. Ragnar could not let an ill girl stay in the pack whom showed no signs of recovery. She would only burn through Thistle and Nerian’s stores and through their food if she was of any ability to eat. It was a hard choice to make, if it were to come to that, but Ragnar was the Jarl and it was his job to make the hard choices. That was what separated Ragnar from his moral and righteous brethren. He could do what few others felt comfortable with and think nothing of it. He could and would make the hard decisions that might few others were willing to make. Ragnar’s approach slowed as he neared Nerian’s den, dissecting the scents of the Priestess, though hers was less prominent than the girls which meant that for whatever reason Nerian was away. Ears splayed to lay atop his skull at half mast for a brief moment before they pushed forward, alert, black, leathery nostrils flared as he shrugged through the brambles of bushes, branches and tree trunks. Eyes of Caribbean ice saw the girl soon enough, part of her body hanging out the mouth of the den and the other half hidden in the shadow of it. A bone was held betwixt her paws and the girl was contented to lick it. Silently, the Viking observed her for a few moments in the shadows of the high noon sun, though his platinum silver fur did little in the effort of hiding him despite that he had no intentions of hiding. "You seem better," Ragnar broke his silence, heavily accented but soft voice carrying towards her where he lingered, not moving closer but having no sign of retreating. This meeting would happen. Here and Now. Even better without the interference of Nerian. The girl was her own individual, she did not need others to speak for her and Ragnar, feeling this way, would accept no one’s word but her own.