She strikes out with her hoof, aiming at the stallion as he steps toward her, as he attempts to round her up and press her back into the sea. Her ears lay tightly against her arched nape and her face contorts into smoldering anger. She would not be leaving until morning, regardless of what Cullen had ordered. She may be a captive of the Lagoon, but she would refuse to return if it meant harming her child.

If you want to die, just try to touch her again. Ragnarr's words are like the mountain's frigid wintery breath, a chill straight to your bones. Björn nods with a curt jerk of his head. He would not be allowing his sister to leave until dawns first light.

Lagertha does not wait for the Lagoonie to reply, but follows Ragnarr's direction and steps away from her brother with a soft nod of her head.

He nods to his sister as she treads further up the beach with Ragnarr. His glacial eyes lay on the Lagoonie, insuring that he does not follow them. "I suggest you wait here until the sun's first light," he says with a snort.

She slows as the weariness begins to overtake her, her steps become short and choppy. With a heavy, exhausted sigh she turns to look upon her smoky grey warrior. "Ragnarr, I am so very tired," she says wearily. She dares to close the space between them, just to feel his skin against hers. She presses her bone white face into the space beneath his chin and closes her dark eyes.

None of this has been in her plan, it seems the gods have a funny sense of humor. With a sigh she opens her dark eyes and moves a step away, where she finds an inviting place to lay her weary body down. Her knees buckle beneath her, carefully she lowers her body to the sand. A sigh escapes into the inky midnight sky.

She tilts her head up to look at Ragnarr, a soft smile traces her lips. "Please, join me," her offer fills the still air between them. Her heart thuds against her ribs in a quick staccato, and their child begins to fidget. She smiles softly.

Translation:
Ekki snerta mig: don't touch me.