Ragnar wasn't so sure that Thistle was going to take him at his word, to stop unnecessarily beating herself up for something that she had no control over. At the end of the day, Ragnar knew Thistle too well, to know that while she might not continue to do so verbally, didn't mean she would cease doing it all together. He'd been with her for roughly seven months now, and had probably at the most known her for eight or nine. Their mate-ship had been quick, but not rushed to the Viking, if only because it had not been, initially founded upon the basis of love. It had been more of a mate-ship of convenience and protection. Thistle was pregnant with illicit children and if he would not have stepped up to claim them as his own (which at the time as far as he'd known he might've been the true father of them) Pump might have killed them. The world had been uncertain then, as it still remained, but at least this time there would be no question of who sired Thistle's next litter, and Ragnar would not need to seek permission from anyone. The circumstances, providing that Stavanger Bay was stable enough to provide for more newborns, were quite different than he had been before. “Ég veit að það er” Ragnar murmured in his native tongue. For too long had he gone without speaking it, almost as if, for the past couple of months, forgetting where it was he'd came from. That wasn't true, of course, but there had been more pressing matters than appeasing the Gods, something that he would have to rectify rather soon, else he might bring their wrath upon the Bay.
If he hadn't already.
“Do you think that this is Odinn's punishment? For me slacking on the sacrifices and prayers lately?” Ragnar couldn't help but ask his Queen Wife in a hushed voice. It was the only option that made the most sense to the devout man. Ragnar still loved Odinn, still worshiped him eagerly, blindly, but the consideration that the Allfather felt slighted would not cease it's nagging within the darkest confines of Ragnar's mind. What kind of sacrifice would Odinn ask of him, as compensation? Ragnar would give much for the Allfather, and anything to glean the knowledge that Yggdrasil had given Odinn. Knowledge was power, after all. It was only when Thistle sat down beside him, the fur of her tail, leaving a feather light trail of shivers against his toes as it brushed against his paws momentarily as she swept it to curl around her own. “No,” Ragnar realized that his words would likely come off as callous and cold, but in the moment he had to think of Stavanger Bay as a whole as opposed to thinking only of three wolves, two missing, the other one assumed to be deceased. “We must focus on preparing our caches and selves for the winter to come,” Ragnar drew, knowing that likely he held the highly unpopular opinion on the matter. “It is nearly upon us and we are not ready.” It was the harsh truth. “We cannot sacrifice the mass for three wolves.” It wasn't that Ragnar didn't care — because Verrine and Julooke were just as much his friends as they'd been Thistle's — it was simply that Ragnar needed to make the hard decision of deciding what was priority and what wasn't.
