Ragnar ignored Thistle's growl, easily combating her words with his own justification behind what had happened. It was amazing how he was bleeding, and eyeless and she was angry with him. So confident was his Queen Wife that he was going to die that she attempted to use it against him, questioning him, uselessly, that if he died where would the Bay be? A small, snide part of Ragnar wanted to respond back sharply, about it probably being better. If he wouldn't have left to try to find Julooke's attacker maybe things would not have gone down the way they had. Maybe the Bay would be better prepared for winter, maybe their numbers wouldn't be so low. Perhaps, though, everything would be exactly the same way, even if he had stayed. Maybe someone could lead Stavanger Bay better than him, not that Ragnar planned to be alive to see that happen. It would take his death to usurp him, like it had taken for the Jarls, Earls, and Kings of Odinn's Cove before hand; and given that Odinn had promised him a long and fulfilling life a long time ago Ragnar intended to hold the All-Father to it.
The Northman snorted softly at her command, lips curling ever so slightly back from his teeth. After a few seconds of wondering if it was necessary, slowly the platinum furred Jarl folded his front legs beneath him and then settled his bum against the ground, ears splayed back against his skull as she continued to lap at his eye and the three gouges that Odinn had left against his skin. As always, she worried too much. Ragnar was made of much thicker, tougher stuff than that to left a missing eye and a few scratches end his life. It was not how he was destined to leave for Valhalla, and he was far, far too young yet. Though part of him would always desire Valhalla, he knew that his life upon the land of the living was far more important than Valhalla until it was actually his time to allow Odinn to take him.