There was no doubt in Ragnar's mind that when he returned to Stavanger Bay, Thistle would be waiting for it, poised to scream and possibly tear into him. Never mind that his title as worlds worst patient coupled with his inability to sit still for any measure of time was hardly anything new. The Northman couldn't let a missing eye and three little scratches keep him from his duties as Jarl. After all, he wasn't dead yet. It hadn't stopped him when the left half of his face had been mutilated intentionally, and he wasn't about to stop now. He did not sacrifice his eye, did not allow Odinn to take it simply to sit on his ass and do nothing. He had heard whispers of new packs in the Wilds long before his trip to the Spine in an attempt to find Julooke's attacker, but the Spine Queen had confirmed it for him, at least. He was the only Outrider that Stavanger Bay had at the moment and he would sooner that he went to investigate these new packs for himself as opposed to sending a subordinate. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, merely it felt more like it was his duty, in the here and now and lead (and only) Outrider. Besides, Stavanger Bay over the past few days, primarly since the “sacrifice” had begun to feel like a giant cage to Ragnar and if he hadn't gotten out when he did he might have gone insane.
At least he had tried to do as Thistle instructed of him; but the cold hard truth that Ragnar had long ago embraced was that life was not going to put itself on hold just because he was injured.
Steps slowed as the scent of a pack hung heavily in the air, the scents familiar to him but missing the distinct scent that he associated with Blacktail Deer Plateau. Brow furrowed ever so slightly in confusion, though the slight lag in thoughts might have been because of the Berserker mushroom he'd eaten to dull the pain to a manageable ache. He would much rather take a Berserker mushroom than gag down Thistle's poppy seeds, even if his wife wholeheartedly disagreed with his choice. Coming across a familiar shape on the borders as he neared them, Ragnar's steps ceased all together as he studied Peregrine carefully with one eye. It was becoming easier, adapting, but easier because his senses on his left side: touch, hearing seemed to become even more heightened to make up the lack of vision.