Besides his den sight in the pack's denning area the beach was the teddy bear's favorite spot. The way the sun beat down upon his cinnamon fur causes the male to warm up quickly. He enjoyed the cold of the north but it was something about the way his fur felt after being drenched in sunlight that gave him internal happiness. The teddy bear rested upon his rock on the shore with his large head in his furry paws. He was facing towards the shore and was breathing slowly and intune with the crashing waves.
Gavriil’s congratulating howl had not gone unnoticed by the Viking, nor any of the others that had rose into the air, neither was it all that surprising considering how Gavriil had expressed excitement in the knowledge of their coming. Ragnar was being as stubborn about not letting anyone see them until they were a month old when he performed the ritual that would introduce them to the pack, the Gods and ensure that they could not be killed without due punishment as he was in everything. As it stood, any of the Ridge wolves could go storming into the couples’ den and slaughter all three of the tiny, vulnerable children and there wasn’t anything the silver Viking could do about it. It was that thought alone that caused Ragnar to spend the nights pressed against the mouth, enduring the weather of the night so that if anyone even considered such a thing they would have to go through him. Just because it was an option and he would be powerless to stop it from happening did not mean he wasn’t going to protect them with his life.
As it was, the Beta sought after Gavriil, having heard nothing about how his meeting with Pump went. It wasn’t his business, not really, and there were some things that Ragnar would rather not be involved in — romantic relationships were one of those things. It was curiosity that drove the silver Viking on his search for the Delta — not because he truly cared either way; though that wasn’t particularly the truth. It had crossed his mind that if Pump had accepted Gavriil’s offer of ‘courtship’ that Ragnar would have competition in the Delta. Not romantic competition but rank competition with the consideration that Pump might see to it to make Gavriil the alpha male if they had became mates. In a way his concern and the potential threat of his rank being in jeopardy was encouragement enough. He had worked hard to earn his place as Pump’s Second In Command and though if he was replaced he could easily take his leave and start a new pack elsewhere having a nice small little gathering of wolves that would follow him. The main reason he hadn’t done it yet was his children. He was not so ambitious as to stupid endanger their lives.
Ragnar found Gavriil, predictably reclining on his rock and the Beta chuffed to alert the other man to his presence.
All thoughts of Pump daily flooded his mind. She was all he could think about most of the day. He was heartbroken that she didn't accept him, but he understood why she rejected him. He didn't agree with it but he understood. He had enough time spent on thinking about his heartbreak. He needed a distraction and he hoped Ragnar would provide it for a while. "How's the new father? Pups keeping you busy?" Gavriil inquired taking his mind off of pump and onto the other wolf. He did really want to meet his children but he knew he would have to wait. He was hoping to be like an uncle to the children, because Uncle Gav had a nice ring to it.
Ragnar watched as the cinnamon kissed male rose quickly at the sound of his chuff and leapt down approaching to submit. Ragnar accepted the male’s respective and submissive lick under his chin with a stoic expression common to the Viking man, but he was pleased by the proper respect being shown, nevertheless. The lines of their hierarchy were very strict and clear and Ragnar did not tolerate blurring of it even though Thistle and himself did it often. He did not expect her submission unless they were in the public eye; though Ragnar classified that a bit differently. She was his wife after all and in privacy they were lovers, partners, parents.
The teddy bear was pleased to hear the genders of the pups. He couldn't wait to meet the fur balls. Smiling widely the male acknowledge the small fact about Ragnar's children. He most likely confided this information in other pack wolves but still Gavriil felt special for the moment.
It wasn't that Gavriil didn't want Pump on his mind, he truly had no harsh feelings for the female and her decision. The teddy bear wasn't what she (Well what Gavriil thought) was looking for. She wanted strong, cold, just, and a warrior. He wasn't that. He was soft, a pushover, kind, honest, and gentle. "She rejected me, as I deep down thought she would." The cinnamon pelted wolf spoke being completely honest with his friend. "I'm not what's she looking for. She wants someone...well...like you. And not me." The wolf admitted. He continued on. "It's okay though, I'm not mad at her or anything, if I had to choose I don't think I would pick me ether." Gavriil finished. He didn't say this to try and get a compliment from Ragnar. It was more to finally admit out loud why he had utterly failed. He was okay with ranting to Ragnar about his flaws because he assumed the male wouldn't try and bullshit lie to him about himself.
As it was Gavriil was the first wolf Ragnar had told the genders to; not that it was any sort of secret, really, but it was just that Ragnar was a private being and his clamor for privacy tended to make him come off as rude most times. Now if Thistle had spoken of their genders to anyone who had stopped by to offer their congratulations (hopefully not stepping inside the den) Ragnar couldn’t say. In the time they had stolen for themselves the previous night they hadn’t spoken much of the children, and as it was they hadn’t spoken about much, period. A few things here and there but Ragnar had other intentions on his mind and perfectly lucid he had not been about to let Thistle trick him out of it again. As it turned out, his wife was more crafty than the Viking had initially given her credit for. As it was she had seemed very innocent and trusting, naive and sentimental, compassionate at first to him, and in ways she still was but she had also changed since agreeing to becoming his wife, though if there were hidden personality traits or his influence Ragnar couldn’t be sure.
Gavriil’s words were, more or less, what Ragnar had suspected and for a moment the Viking simply stared at the Delta, stoicly. He doubted there was anything he could say that would relieve the other man’s heartbreak — not that Ragnar was the type of man you went too for that, considering he could not say he was experienced in the matters of heartbreak. He had broken several hearts in his lifetime but his had always been safely closed away, and until Thistle, untouchable. While Ragnar had not wanted to see Gavriil get his heart stepped on he had been a pessimest and could not claim that he had not seen it coming. As Ragnar had warned Gavriil that day, he did not see Pump as the wife and mother type. Ragnar let out a chuckle when Gavriil said that Pump wanted someone like Ragnar as a husband. His laughter wasn’t meant to rub salt in the Delta’s wounds — merely it was because the idea of Pump and him was bizarre and entirely unlikely to Ragnar (even though the Viking understood that wasn’t what Gavriil had meant).
Ragnar understood that Thistle and him were a rare and odd case, certainly they were an odd and rare couple; it only made sense the unorthodox would work for them.
There were loads of things wrong with the male. Sure if a female longed for some hopeless romantic who doesn't have the heart to hurt a fly. The she wolves from his past knowledge wanted a strong protector not a mushy prince charming. "Considering I best fit the caretaker trade, yes I think there is something wrong with me." Gavriil admitted. Granted it wasn't that there was something wrong with being soft, it's just that most females from his narrow understanding wanted a warrior.
Gavriil’s tone was defensive when he mentioned that he may have mentioned mateship and then followed it up with that he was nervous. Ragnar let out a groan and shook his head at Gavriil and leveled a stare at the other male that was a strange mix of pity and bemusement. Ragnar muttered to himself in ancient Norse about what he was going to do with Gavriil — who obviously needed more experience with women — under his breath. He inhaled deeply and let it out on a short, brutish breath.
It was painfully clear to the silver Viking that his subordinate, no, his friend, had a lot to learn about the fairer sex. In a way, it was kind of a strange thing for Ragnar who had assumed that Gavriil would have women swooning over him like flies because their ideal man for women seemed to be opposite of one another’s ideas. Ragnar was confident women wanted a man like Gavriil who knew how to be sensitive and romantic and spouted poetic things and whispered loving nothings in ears — in hindsight the direct opposite of Ragnar himself; while it seemed that Gavriil was confident women wanted men like Ragnar. Harsh, ruthless, the kind of man that a rock was more romantic then (which was more or less true in Ragnar’s case); the heathen of the North.
The cinnamon wolf sniggered when the male mentioned that he thought that Gavriil and Thistle would have been mates. It was a foreign idea to the male, he had truthfully never thought about it. Maybe in another life they would have been mates but right now Thistle was Ragnar’s, and Ragnar was Thistle’s. No amount of love or lust would ever drive the teddy bear to change that fact. Out of respect for both the wolves he wouldn’t go after her. This idea was driven into his head when the Viking shot him a look that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but ‘don’t even try’. ”You two are too perfect for me to try even go after Thistle. Plus you would kill me, and I like living.” Gavriil spoke in a half nervous voice sensing the ruined mood.
After Ragnar gave the auburn pelted male a ‘slap on the back’ he continued to drive in the fact that it may take some time before Pump came around. This wasn’t an issue for Gavriil, he would like her all the same (if not more) in the years to come. If fate had it that Pump would still reject Gavriil sure he would find someone else but the ebony wolf would hold a special place in his heart. The wolf hybrid would be his first love and heartache. If the gods allowed it she would also be his first lover, and wife. Now was no time to dream about the uncertain future. For now he had to focus on getting her to open up to him and become more than just friends. It was true that Pump was the most difficult female but she was worth it. The way she spoke was full of pride and certainty. Her eyes radiated supremacy but her face exposed gentleness. Her hunting prowess and her simple smiles took Gavriil by the heart. The way she had kissed him on the check after rejecting him, or the time she had shown him how to hunt seals. Every one of their interactions stood out in his head as special. What hurt the most was knowing that these conversations and events were nothing to Pump. He felt lighting when they touched, but she felt a simple brush of a packmate. ”Thanks Ragnar, ill take it slow and I wont make anymore mistakes. I do have a question when can I see the pups? I know you have your ritual and everything but once that is over I do want to see your children.” Gavriil spoke with his head down and in submission.
The male was overly excited for the moment when he would finally get to meet the newest editions to their pack. Pups were Gavriil’s second favorite thing besides his rock. Okay and maybe Pump. But pups were still his third most favorite thing in the entire universe. Which is pretty much really awesome considering his two (second and third) favorite wolves had them. He had loads of games planned out for the new pups. One called chase the leaf, where Gavriil would run after a leaf and the pups would laugh at him because he would look like a doofus. In all reality his games would be sparring games, he would help teach the pups (with Ragnar’s permission and guidance of course) how to fight, hunt, play, and be friendly.
To consider that Ragnar and Gavriil had formed some sort of platonic relationship — in much simpler terms a friendship — was a strange thing for the silver Viking to consider because he did not trust wolves enough to make friends; or on the other side of that wolves didn’t like him and wanted to give him as wide a berth as they could. Perfect. For a moment Ragnar mulled over the word, strange sounding even though he understood well enough what it meant and in which way Gavriil was using it for. Ragnar was perfect for Thistle and vice versa had been what Gavriil had said and the Viking moved on to marvel the word perfect of that context. were they perfect for one another? It was true that Ragnar was certain that Odinn had fated their union but did that make it the equivalent of perfect?
As Ragnar’s icy eyes moved from Gavriil, allowing him to daydream once more — for it had been hinted at and Ragnar suspected that the Delta’s wandering thoughts were on the lady who occupied them the most he glimpsed around them on the shore, feeling the warm sand squish between his toes, letting the gentle lull of the calm sea soothe him for a few moments before his attention could stray too far; it snapped back to Gavriil.
Their conversation drifted to the children and Ragnar’s lips pursed tersely for a few moments before he decided to let Gavriil finish. Once he was sure the other male was finished speaking — apparently a lot of the Ridge’s wolves were eager to see the children — Ragnar’s lips parted to speak.
The male look stoic when Gavriil spoke about his pups. In a way this set the cinnamon wolf on edge. He understood he needed to perform a ritual but he didn’t understand why it needed to be a month long. It was Ragnar’s choice and he couldn’t do anything about it. He would have to be patient while this month (slowly) passed. He would see the children soon, he just needed to wait a few. ”Thanks Ragnar, I must be going now. I hope to speak to you soon my friend, and brother.” Gavriil spoke while slowly walking up to the male. The teddy bear licked his companions muzzle after saying friend then he proceeded to push his nose against the male’s chest before saying ‘brother’.
Regardless what any of the other wolves of the Ridge thought about Ragnar’s conditions Ragnar wasn’t budging on the traditions of the Cove. It was inherently apart of his culture and to break it would surely bring some kind of ill fate down upon the children. As the father, Ragnar wasn’t willing to risk his childrens’ lives just because those of the Ridge were impatient. They could be allowed to know them in time. Besides, they were only infants; their life revolved around eating, sleeping and pooping. They had yet to distinguish themselves, had yet to become a true fascination to anyone besides the parents (or so Ragnar thought, anyway). The fact of it was …they were kind of boring at first. Beautiful and precious and vulnerable but boring. Ragnar was a superstitious man and his children were not yet safe from any who would mean them ill harm. As in, they held no rights and he could not do anything if they were killed. He could try to prevent it but if he caught it when it was too late he had to simply let it go. It was the way of his people and was (despite what his fatherly instincts told him) acceptable.