Ragnarr had kept largely to himself since Lagertha had been forced to swim back through the cold sea. Thankfully, she had not suffered any ill effects from the strenuous journey, but the warrior stallion was loathe to drift far from her side. Currently she was resting, and Cullen and his foul underling had been wise enough to keep their distance. Ragnarr simmered in silence some distance away, his mind drifting, wondering of the fate of his brothers three.
Bjorn had bid them farewell from the shore of his Ridge Kingdom and it was clear to Ragnarr that the Bear King had no love for the stallions who treated his beloved sister so. Though the two Icelandic brutes were at odds with one another, when it came to Lagertha, they would fight together until the very last to ensure her safety and wellbeing. All was not well among the islands, however, and though Ragnarr hadn’t had time or opportunity to ask, he could tell his brother had a lot on his mind. If things had been different, and if Lagertha weren’t imprisoned beneath the rule of stallions incapable and unwilling to protect what they considered theirs, Ragnarr might have tried to mend things with Bjorn, so that they could fight side by side once more.
As for Lorel - his brother by blood, Ragnarr hadn’t seen him since they’d parted ways on Tinuvel. It was Ivar, however, that demanded his attention. Or rather, the absence of Ivar. It was troubling. He’d caught the dark wolf-warrior’s scent when he’d first arrived, but had seen no sign of him, even after extensive searching. Cullen had proven to be of little use – largely ignoring Ragnarr and leaving him to rankle in the bogs of the Lagoon. It had been frustrating, earlier, the feeling of being unappreciated, the restless warrior within him going unused.
But now, after the treatment Lagertha had received, and the callous way Cullen had demanded his lapdog to return her to the Lagoon with no regard to the wellbeing of the foal the Lagoon ‘Boss’ seemed so desperate to have… Ragnarr was glad the idiots had kept their distance. It had prevented him from making them bleed.
As it was, he stirred now at the approach of another, shaking free from his internal strife, and instinctively adopting an aggressive stance. However, it was a stranger that approached, one that Ragnarr had known only from a distance. At the spotted male’s greeting, Ragnarr merely grunted, relaxing a little, and after a moment, indicating with a jerk of his muzzle that the stallion was welcome to join him if he so desired. Why he’d desire such a thing at all, however, was unclear to the foreign male. But not for long.
At the stranger’s words, Ragnarr stiffened slightly, and turned to look directly at the bay stallion, blind and seeing eyes both narrowed in suspicion. “Friend,” he growled, simmering with aggression. It was not, however, directed to his companion. “Cullen has made it clear that there are no friends here. Only selfish fools who care for nothing but their own worthless hides.” He scrutinised the stallion, gauging his reaction to the rather incendiary words Ragnarr himself had spoken. Cullen had crossed Ragnarr, after the war-hardened warrior had pledged loyalty to him, and that was something that could not easily be forgiven. “Who are you,” the restless brute demands of his companion. “And what do you want from me?”
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