Ragnar didn't want to speak of Nerian anymore; frankly, would be quite content with never speaking of his once slave ever again. She was apart of his past now, and what was done was done and there was nothing that either of them could do about it. No longer did he want to continue to linger in that pool of distrust and anger. It was their future, twined so intimately with the future of Stavanger Bay that needed and deserved his attention — not the past or what futures there could have been. Ragnar had learned long ago that there was no point on lingering on what could have been when it would realistically never be. He wasn't a dreamer like that. He was a realist.
Ragnar held still as Thistle slid closer, nipping at his left, unscarred shoulder, the feather light brush of her tail against his flank briefly distracting him from the gravity and weight of their new responsibilities. When she admitted that she had missed him, Ragnar was silent for a short while, unsure if he wanted to allow her to distract him in a way he desperately needed wanted, or if he wanted to try to steer their conversation back to the important matters they weren't exactly done discussing yet. After the contemplative silence which stretched for a heartbeat or two, Ragnar's lips parted and the Viking spoke,