raise me from perdition

Thistle did not like to dwell on problems, but she did acknowledge them. Her husband was much more serious than she when problems presented themselves. It wasn't because they did not weigh heavy on her, or because she did not wish to see them. It was more she put her faith in the fact that they would work themselves out, with her and his help of course. She also held more hope in her breast than he did for so many things. It also was the fact that when a problem was serious she sometimes became despondent and depressed. Ragnar could attest to that she knew, her reaction to Nerian had been one such time. Thistle could feel the unrest in the set of her husbands shoulders at night the anger that probably boiled below his minds eye and in his heart. She imagined since he hadn't spoken of it, it was anger at the gods and that was something he did not like to air out in the world.

Thistle herself was beginning to wonder if it had been her fault that such darkness landed heavily on both the ridge and now the bay. Had she somehow incurred another gods wrath by having her children? While they resided amongst them would there be problems? Was it she that was cursed perhaps by her mother's dark deity Sos. Heaven's preserve them she really didn't know, but it was dark and troublesome of late.

Ragnar did not return her smile and it made her own falter a bit. Then it was quickly squashed at the words he breathed from quiet lips. She stared at him as her body seemed to give away and she sat down heavily. She wasn't sure what to say, so she just stared at him with blue gems full of curiosity and a little bit of anger, but she couldn't bring forth the embers to fully go into tirade, because she was simply so thrown off she didn't know what to say. Excuse me? She fought to bring the few words she could out of her craw and then she waited her body rigid and tightly wound.