[m] water that i crave

Nerian began to explain the history of the prayer, and Ragnar's lips rose at the corners in his trademark smirk. It was typical of Nerian to answer him but not answer him, as well. In a way it almost frustrated him, but it also intrigued him because he had no idea, nor could come to any plausible conclusion as to why she did it. Other than she was afraid to tell him things but even so he had assumed, which was perhaps his downfall in that specific area, that she knew that she could tell him anything. Perhaps he needed to stop assuming that his wives knew these things. That prayer gives you peace? Ragnar inquired, as a rhetorical question, understand that he was merely mimicked what she had just spoken to him. Peace from what? He inquired in a soft murmur, leaning forth to brush his muzzle against hers, eyes of caribbean ice staring into hers. With his wives looking into their eyes held different connotations than it did for his other subordinates, naturally. He understood that they were not challenging him. Only, they wanted to know that he was paying them attention. Indeed, his Priestess wife had his rapt and undivided attention at that moment.

He afforded her so much attention that he had nearly forgotten where they were, had nearly forgotten the repetitive splash of the waves that crashed around their bodies, spraying their dampened fur with sticky salt water. He pressed his lips against the junction between her shoulder blades when she drew nearer so that they were shoulder to shoulder, a small gasp breaching his lips when he felt her lips graze his scarred ear. The pain receptors were damaged in it each sensation, pain or pleasure, coming across as sickly sweet. Even so, Ragnar did not mind. I thought that you might, my love, He had wanted to let Nerian know that he was willing to share with her God, just as her and Thistle were willing to share him with one another. You are so beautiful, The Viking murmured into her fur, nipping at the junction of her shoulders, smoothing his tongue over the area that he had nibbled at. The best part that she was his, finally. Not as his slave but as a free woman, as his second wife. Odinn had planned this from the day Ragnar had stolen her from her home, he could see it now. It had been Fate just as his love with Thistle had been Fate.

The Norns knew and who was he to challenge the Norns, what Odinn wanted.

TABLE CODE BY JOHN