Trying to get Stavanger Bay on track wasn't as crushing or as hard as he had initially assumed it might have been, though if anything the fact that the shit storm slammed through while Ragnar had been absent, handling an important outrider mission made Ragnar less inclined to ever leave his Bay again. There was fault in that determination, though. As of right now he was the only Outrider they had, but his duties as Jarl were far more important in the long run and so it was within the confines of the claimed lands of his pack that he would stay, at least until the Bay had some more wolves to their ranks. Currently, they needed every body they could get to assist in pack hunts, and with the three young mouths to feed Ragnar was running on overdrive. He was used to this, to the pressures of harsh and savage winters and it was not the prospect of the oncoming winter that filled the Viking with trepidation. It was the fact that, until otherwise, he and Thistle now had three fostered infants to take care of. It wasn't so bad as long as Mercury and Gunnar helped out and thus far the sons did not seem to mind helping out.
Ragnar had been on a check of the pack's caches when the howl had been sent up, slicing through the cool, crisp autumn air that dithered on the cusp of being winter. Eyes of icy carribean blue moved in the direction of origin, close to the beach, likely calling from the massive arch that acted as mother nature's own barrier to ward out those that were unwanted within the Bay that it protected. Abandoning what he was currently doing he wasted no time seeking out the owner of the voice, the sand cool against his large paws as it molded without resistance to each step the platinum silver Viking made.