Page 9 of Ragnar

Never breaking eye contact, he leans towards the ground and his bones begin to shift. The popping sound is horrendous and loud, but it is over quite quickly.

Instead of my 15-foot tall, quadruped wolf, in his place is a much shorter yet no less terrifying humanoid version of himself. Though, as the shock and horror of what I just witnessed begins to subside I see that humanoid is a loose term. The only thing human about him is that he stands on two…paws and has a torso that leads to a muscular neck. His much smaller lupine face remains the same. The scales are still there as well as the sails, they are just miniaturized.

“What the hell is going on? This can’t be real!” Though I want to shout, the growing number of animal calls keeps my panic to a whisper.

Amusement is much easier to see on this version of my monster’s face, and there is no mistaking his grin. Screw him! He’s living his best life while I’m concerned I might need a grippy sock vacation.

My mouth hangs open in shock when he begins to speak. The words are foreign, I understand none of it, but I’ll be damned. Sentient and capable of speech. For just a second, I consider hunting for Alice’s rabbit hole if only to escape the madness of the real world.

“Hold the hell up. You can talk?” I ask, my shock manifesting as some serious attitude. Unfazed, he nods.

“Hold the hell up. You can talk?” He mimics my words, jumbled and growly but still understandable. Falling silent, I don’t even bother trying to close my mouth. Shocked seems to be my permanent state since meeting him.

Shaking myself and trying to find some semblance of control, I run through my questions from earlier. He can talk, but the broken language barrier presents a problem. Just because he can understand me and mimic me doesn’t mean he can answer my questions. Taking advantage of my silence, he struts through the doors. Squeaking in alarm at how large he still is, I scoot back against a stack of feed buckets, unable to escape as he gets closer, sucking up all the free space.

A shudder wracks my body as he stops right in front of me, crouching down. Every muscle on his big body is taut, standing out starkly. One dagger tipped finger reaches forward and runs down the side of my face in a dangerous caress. He says another growly, garbled word and the reverence in his voice is clear. My fear shifts to embarrassment, my body subtly leaning backwards, creating distance.

He drops his hand but doesn’t move away, his blue eyes scanning me from head to toe and quieter this time he repeats the same word. For all I know he could be calling me ugly in his alien language. The emotion he puts behind his words won’t let me believe the lie. Desperate to change the dynamic, to distract myself from the strange sensations growing within me with just that one caress, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“What is your name?” The moment the words leave my lips I want to kick myself. How the hell is he supposed to tell me that? Surprisingly he just smiles before saying a growly word I can’t quite catch. After speaking he gives me an expectant look, as if waiting for me to confirm I understood. When I say nothing, I swear he rolls his eyes before saying it again, this time slower.

“Rargrar.” He mumbles, the syllables drawn out in an extended garble. Unwilling to just sit silently once more, I give it my best shot.

“Rograr?” He huffs and shakes his head no. “Rogknar?” Again, he shakes his head. After a few more tries he takes pity on me.

“R-a-g-n-a-r.” Each letter is drawn out with intense concentration and difficulty. A smile lights up my face in understanding, appreciating the effort.

“Ragnar!” His lupine grin is almost adorable as he nods.

“What is your name?” He mimics, the words once again sounding off, but I applaud his hard work. Now that I know he can speak, he is quite the linguist. His nearness still lingers at the back of my mind, the heat of his body blazing in such a small space. Though as we speak, he relaxes enough to sit. It doesn’t diminish his overwhelming effect on me.

“Reggie.” I murmur back, amused that we are managing to converse. Even if it is stilted. His smile is breathtaking for multiple reasons. Though his dimensions are smaller, his fangs are still terrifying to behold. Terror equals my bemusement because his whole demeanor changes when he smiles. It isn’t the smile of a human, but it is a semblance close enough for me to recognize it for what it is.

“Rergree.” He mimics, his smile falling when the letters come out jumbled. He tries again, butchering it worse this time. A small laugh escapes and I take pity on him.

“R-e-g-g-i-e.” I sound my name out slowly, letting him hear how the letters are supposed to sound.

“Regreee.” He tries again, frustration building. A growl escapes him, his fangs grinding with his anger. My eyes widen and I grab his attention, needing to derail this before he explodes in this small of a space.

“Regreee is close enough for me. Good job.” I say, nodding to show my approval.

“Regreee, trraga.” The second word makes me pause, glancing up at him in confusion.

“Trraga?” I murmur, but he shakes his head before scooting closer. I freeze in place, watching with varying emotions as he leans forward to place his clawed hand upon my chest.

“Regreee. Ragnar. Trragaran.” He repeats the word before motioning between us. When he reaches for my hand I hesitate, unsure where this is going. Still, I try to understand because I don’t want to let go of our newfound communication. It leads me one step closer to answers, answers I so desperately need. With that in mind I let him take my hand, threading our fingers as best he can.

His hand is massive, dwarfing mine so badly that I stare in awe at our differences. He repeats his words again, clasping my hand tightly. My brow furrows with confusion, staring at our hands differently.

“What?” That single word carries the weight of everything I am feeling and want to know, inadequate yet all encompassing. In answer, Ragnar pulls our hands apart, gestures between us and then repeats one word.

“Trragaran.” A terrible kernel of knowledge niggles free of my brain, filtering into the rest of my body as nothing short of dread and disbelief. Maybe it is the way he is looking at me, maybe it is in his tone but suddenly I understand. I understand completely and I do not want to. It makes too much sense.

He saved me when I should have been nothing more than a nuisance to a creature like him. Yet here he sits, trying to communicate and keep me safe. You don’t do that unless there is a reason, and his reason is abundantly clear. Still, I find it hard to say the words. I want to be wrong; it is so crazy that my own brain wants to reject it. All the monster stories Bethany used to tell me about are coming back to me when I wish they wouldn’t.

“Trragaran. Does it mean together?” I ask hopefully, praying he nods. When he looks confused, I seek to clarify, hoping upon hope he doesn’t confirm my suspicions. “Reggie and Ragnar are Trragaran. Together?” I gesture between us again, but he shakes his head.

“Ragnar trragar. Regreee trraga. Ragnar, Regreee trragaran.” He responds, his words broken but clear. Garnering what little courage I have left, I decide to be upfront, tired of beating around the bush.

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