Sure enough, it seemed that Eitri did have things to teach Ragnar despite that he had been deceased for nearly three years now as Charon burst into an explanation without being prompted for one. Single eye roved to glimpse down at the boy as he spoke, though the Viking's grim expression did not alter upon his lips. The description of the wolf was met with vague familiarity to Ragnar but he brushed it off because he could not draw upon it with any sort of specifics. “We have no wolf with that coloration, nor that name,” Ragnar informed Charon simply. Just because the Berserker had stepped down from his title of Jarl did not mean that he did not keep track of those his wife accepted into his the pack. He might not have been very sociable but he knew them from simply watching and inquiring things from Thistle as a debriefing. As the warden it was his job to know who he was protecting, after all. “And if you would have sought me out immediately after she spoke these lies to you, you would have known they were lies,” This was said with soft disapproval, in a “for future reference” tone. He was happy to have Charon back safe and relatively sound — though Ragnar did not doubt Thistle would fuss over his malnutrition like any loving mother — but he wished for Charon to learn from his mistake. A mistake that Ragnar, himself, would have made in his youth. They were flawed, mistakes were written in their genetic coding. Even Gods made mistakes. “I had assumed that Kevlyn had died, as your parents had. His trail faded into the sea,” It was alarming to think that he wasn't deceased, for this 'Blythe' whomever she was had known enough about them to know the boy by name, or so that was how Ragnar had taken it from Charon's words.
“The Glacier wolves think we stole a child of theirs?” Ragnar was surprised, and balked a bit at that, slowly the puzzle pieces falling together into his mind causing a soft snarl to push forth from parted lips. “We have been set up Charon, and so have the wolves of the Glacier,” It all made sense now, and even went so far as to explain the strange sea and female scent over every one of his prominent urine markings. Ragnar was many things: savage? Yes. Heathen? Yes. Murderer? Possibly, it depended upon how one wished to look at his death match with his eldest brother and those whom he had raided and slain over the years. Kidnapper? No. He was a father. He had given Junior back, hadn't he? He had rescued her. He did not tell Charon that he had played right into this 'Blythe''s trap, figuring that the boy had likely already figured it out for himself. “Thistle needs to be made aware of this and we need to ready the pack. There may be a war upon us soon.” His thoughts immediately went to his unborn children and his breath left him in a soft push of air, as if someone had punched him in the lungs. So, dark days were upon the Bay, after all.
After a stretch of silence, and Ragnar peeked at Charon once more, inhaling deeply and letting out the heavy exhale. He wished to admit that he had worried endlessly about the boy, that he was glad he was back, and that he had missed him when he had been gone but Ragnar didn't know how. He wasn't that kind of man and was not sure how to appropriately speak his feelings; thus he favored silence.
