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Ragnar was glad to be home. Being away from Stavanger Bay for any long period of time made him anxious. He could never say why. It wasn't like he couldn't, nor didn't, trust his Queen Wife blindly with his and the life of everyone else within their little Norse pack. Of course he'd trusted Vali in the same way and that had ended up with a knife of betrayal lodged in the Jarl's spine; but this was Thistle. She was young, and not as experienced as a leader as Ragnar was but he trusted her not to be too soft hearted, and to make the right decisions in his absence. He was anxious to see her again, though not to divulge in what he had learned. Not yet. For now, he would keep those burdens and his forming plans to himself. His place was at the helm of his Bay and he could not continue to stretch his journey on needlessly without scheming out his battle plan, and without talking strategically with his Queen Wife, of course. At the end of the day, he really didn't need to ask her permission but she was his Queen and her counsel was revered by the Jarl. It was Thistle Cloud that he missed the most, whose absence of warmth he felt the most in the bitingly chilly autumn nights and it was his Queen Wife that he was the most anxious to rekindle with. They had much to discuss, him and her, and there was much more he needed to speak with Nerian about if she would even speak to him or if she would refuse and shrink deeper into her bubble of self seclusion.
His long strides took him easily across the length of Sea Lion Shores, steps pausing at the call of a howl in the nearby distance, a silhouette of a creature outlined against the towering hang and arch of the sea cliff that acted as a natural border to his Bay. Ragnar's pace increased letting out a chuff as he drew nearer, body held in the natural pose of his rank.