Battle was something that Ragnar lived for, and something he died for, as well, given that only the bravest of warriors were destined to make it into Valhalla to join Odinn in his army during Ragnarök. While Ragnar lived for many things, it was this …essentially his end that he lived for what could be considered the very most. Every day he worked to prove himself to Odinn, hoping that he did not misstep and lose his favor with the Allfather. He tried to take time to make sacrifices when he could but he thought that Odinn rather understood that with the children now eating regurgitated meat Ragnar couldn’t afford to give Odinn (or rather Huginn and Muinnin for there was little doubt in Ragnar’s mind that the ravens polished his offers clean) much. While nothing really came first over the Allfather, he had to consider his children. It was claimed that the blood frenzy was bred into them, merely enhanced by the spores of the mushrooms they consumed. His body was made for fighting, big, strong, bear-like, able to withstand and deal out brute force. Yet, it had been a while since he had done any of it. The last good fight he had had, had been with the bear and it had taken all of Ragnar’s common sense to leave it be, to not chase after it and attempt to end it’s life.
Despite Ragnar’s want for the destruction of the Isle wolves for sheer stupidity alone he knew that fighting them wouldn’t get anywhere; knew from his many times raiding that there were more effective ways of taking down an enemy than outright going to war with them. It wasn’t wise to spill blood and lose men when there were more diabolical ways. They would take longer, how many times Dagrun in his impatience had argued with Ragnar about it, but in essence they would achieve the same end without stupid risks. He understood Pump’s take on it. What frustrated him was he assumed it meant he could not attempt to sabotage them because they had done nothing first (even though technically by existing there they had).
Brow furrowed as Pump retched and coughed for a bit, leaving Ragnar standing there feeling well…awkward. It was bad enough he had to listen to Thistle retch up food she had consumed for the children he really didn’t need to see Pump doing something similar. Just because Ragnar didn’t want to hear/see something didn’t mean he was squeamish — he wasn’t — however, he didn’t have to like it.
He hated them because they made him feel territorial and on edge and took away the joy of being with his family because all he could think about, all he thought about was them and the looming threat of trespassing, of stealing food meant for his children. It was driving him a little mad.