Ragnar supposed that heat seasons differed depending on the woman — Nerian had been little more than outright desperate whilst Thistle appeared to be more playful. The only problem was that Ragnar had no intentions of playing. Though his Queen Wife would be in heat for the next couple of days Ragnar did not want to lose any chance he got to stake his claim, he supposed. The hormones surging through her might have made her playful they drove him wild as the perfume consumed him, flooding every sense that Ragnar had until there was nothing else but the carnal desire. It should have been disturbing to him, how easily he was obsessed with it, with the idea of planting his seed and seeing her grow round with his children (known for sure this time), until there was nothing else. Nothing was more important to him in that moment — not the state of the Bay, not the borders, nothing.
There was a small part of Ragnar that knew if he was standing there comparing their heat seasons, fresh as they were, Thistle would have not been pleased; but thankfully she was not able to read his mind, despite that he was not thinking of Nerian for any purpose other than what it was: to study how different women reacted to it. Ragnar had meant what he'd told Thistle: Nerian was never welcome in the Bay again and though the Viking did not share this particular piece with his Queen Wife, he had came to terms with the conclusion that if he ever saw the Priestess again that he would kill her. Whatever he had felt for Nerian had died the instant she abandoned them and betrayed him. Lied to him; and now he felt nothing at all other than the desire to snuff out her life.
Ragnar tucked those thoughts away, however, in favor of the sultry haze that was overtaking him, in the presence of Thistle. He felt Thistle nip and lick the parts of her body that she could reach before he slid away from the reach of her muzzle, rounding to stop when he was behind her. The urge to mount her was strong, so close to the source of the delicious smell she was emitting, though it appeared to him to come from every pour of her body; though Ragnar resisted. Her tail remained in his way and he fixed the back of her head in his singular eye as he pressed his chest against her rump, nipping lightly at the junction where her tail met her spine, curious as if to she would continue to tease him or if she would allow him what he wanted (and what he suspected she wanted too?).