my lungs will fill and then deflate

His ears flicked, betraying his interest. Truth be told, he'd been far more curious about Ragnar (and Gunnar, to a lesser extent) than he had expected himself to be. But thus far Ragnar had proven an enigma, a mystery, if only by virtue of being among the only packmates he had yet to meet. And truly there was no better source on the man, save he himself, than his mate. And from everything that he heard from her, were he a few years younger and a lot more reckless, Ragnar might just have been his type. It was always those strong (generally) silent types, and if they meant trouble, all the better. But Aesop was older, now. (Not to mention that the male in question was a complete stranger and also very taken by a women he very much respected.)

"I understand," he laughed, "no matter what he's like, I've probably met worse. Should I be takin' this as a warning, though? Have I been toeing a line or somethin'?" He snorted, keeping his tone light, though it would be nice to know if he was fucking up before he actually did it. Veiled threats, no matter how thinly they were, had never come easy to Aesop.

Aesop nodded at her explanation, humming pensively. Though he had decided not to give it much thought, his encounter with the coywolf was a bitter memory, and he wanted to at least know where she came from. He was not about to ask, though. Having gleaned little from Thistle's explanation, he quickly latched on to the next bit of information. "If you need a message delivered, I'd be pleased to have a chance to, y'know, do somethin' useful," he offered.