Ragnar ignored Thistle's snort of displeasure, and her growls as she mocked him. She did not mean it, at least there seemed to be no sharp knife behind her words. “You keep saying that,” Ragnar murmured to her, with a dry smirk. “Yet I still do not know what will happen when I reach one of these days.” Likely teasing her was not going to gain him any sort of favor. He supposed that since they were already fighting, and she was already angry with him, that his sardonic replies were not going to hurt anything. Ragnar rolled his eye as she gave him a sharp glare and reminded him, yet again that he was a fool. “You keep reminding me of that as well,” He spoke simply with an errant shrug of broad, scarred shoulders. They had quite a difference of opinion and he did not take her words to heart. He paid attention, of course, but he did not give them much of a second thought even though there was a small part of the Northman that told him he should have. A soft rumble of pleasure lingered in the Viking's thoughts when he felt her muzzle press against his neck, before trailing to his shoulders; a soft shiver slithering down his spine when he felt her warm breath fan against the inside of his ear as she spoke into it, her words coy and teasing, her wolfish smile enunciating what she believed to be true. Perhaps Thistle was right. Perhaps if she did not fret over and fight with him he would grow bored. It was no secret that he had a habit of doing that to his past wives. They would interest him and when they didn't he dropped them and pawned them off, their value to him gone. Of course he had not loved them, not really. They were trophies or gifts, or in the case of Tyra a victory over his (deceased) elder brother. A forbidden fruit that he had only wanted for the sole reason that she had been forbidden. In all fairness though, Bjorn had had it coming to him, for killing Eitri simply because he wanted to lead the Cove.
Ragnar did not know if there was true to Thistle's words, or not, and even though he was weary of their near constant arguments he wouldn't have it any other way. Nerian had given him everything he had wanted (in a sense) and never argued with him and at first it had been great, until she had ran away with her tail between her legs at their first serious talk of children, never mind the fact that during her heat season she had all but thrown herself at him numerous times. Regardless, he tucked the thought of his ex-Priestess away. She had burned her bridges, and Ragnar had done nothing to cease the consuming flames. “I came across one of the new packs that have settled within the Wilds and found that Peregrine and his mate, Fox lead one of them. I think he called it Redhawk Caldera,” The name was hard for him to say, the word 'caldera' accented heavily at the wrong places. “Peregrine made me an offer, one that with the more thought I give the harder it is to come up with a reason to refuse,” Ragnar confessed to her. “He has proposed that, providing his mate is okay with it, that we, Stavanger Bay and his Redhawk Caldera become allies. I know that it goes against what I once said, and I still dislike the idea of alliances... and if it had been anyone else I would give a resolute no to. But Peregrine is a good man, and I am honored that he had extended to offer,” Ragnar gave pause, “I believe we should accept, but what are your thoughts?” Because he would not make a decision without her.
