Stavanger Bay bleak world

Ragnar watched as Charon's shoulders rose and fell with the heavy sigh that the young child let out. It was not an easy thing to hear, and not for the first time Ragnar wished that he had the power of Odinn, that he could make it all go away for him and his siblings. But the Northman wasn't the All-Father, and only could do so much to make it was easy as he could. Charon and his siblings, Ragnar suspected, were too young to know death and he did not know how to explain it so that the boy would understand that his parents weren't coming back. That they couldn't. The boy and his siblings were too young to have to bear such a horrible burden, to know that their parents had been cruelly ripped from them at such a young and tender age. Ragnar felt responsible for it, that if he wouldn't have left to try to find the heathen that attacked Julooke and nearly killed her the first time then perhaps it wouldn't have happened. That maybe Julooke and Verrine would still be here, with their children. Where they should have been; but life rarely worked how it was supposed to go. Having nothing further to say to Charon, the Viking watched as his foster son stood, drew closer, staying back by Ragnar's hind leg before he curled up with a 'night', and promptly seemed to fall asleep. “góða nótt.” Ragnar murmured to the child, turning his attention towards the mouth of the den, letting his attention drift off with his thoughts.