Stavanger Bay There is no forgiveness in nature

It was the scent of blood that had alerted Ragnar first, it's metallic scent pungent and unmistakable. An otherwise everyday scent to him that he, initially did not pay much mind too even though it carried Thistle and Julookr's scent with it. He had woken some time ago to walk the borders, hoping the fresh night air might do him some good. With Ollie and Olor released from their captivity his sleeping schedule had resumed something that resembled normal. Still, sometimes sleep did not always call to him. Though the matter with Wheeling Gull Isle was far from resolved and he found himself more frusterated on that front than he had, having felt like he was speaking with a child given how many times he needed to repeat himself, Ragnar could not claim that it was anything in particular that kept him up.

Ragnar was drawn from his wandering thoughts when Thistle's howl for him shot into the night like cannon fire, breaking the serenity in which he had previously been enjoying and causing his pace to quicken to a full out run as he worked to close the distance between the two women and himself. He had subconsciously been hearing in the direction of the blood scent, thinking that maybe the women had brought down a deer or something for a midnight snack but the urgency in which his wife had called him for painted Ragnar a much grimer picture. Something was wrong. His heart beat like a war drum in his chest as he ran, a growl building within him with anticipation for what he might find. As he neared them his pace slowed, the growl lost in the column of his throat at he glimpsed down at the heavily panting, exhausted looking Julooke of whom blood was pouring out of in at least two places that he could discern. Thistle had already set to work on getting her fixed up, as eyes of Caribbean ice scoured the lands outside his borders almost dating someone or something to come near them. Who ever had done this to Julooke would die and Ragnar didn't care which pack's feelings would get hurt in the process, if any. As his black, leathery nostrils had flared he had scented a few unknown scents upon Julooke but the scent of her blood was strong enough to nearly drown them out.

Ragnar had stopped just short of asking Julooke who had done it to her, asking Thistle instead, "How can I help?" The bleeding needed to be stopped, surely, and though he was more or less useless when it came toy saving lives he was like a horse that could be led to water. If he was told what to do he could do it. Before he assisted Thistle in whatever she asked him to help with, he touched his muzzle to Julooke's cheek, meant to be comforting and reassuring as the Viking could be. "You are safe now, Julooke." Of that he promised her.