Ragnar does not attempt to hide the pleasurable smile that drifts over his lips as a woman finds him among the naked trees. He openly allows his eyes to travel over her finely made form without any visible hesitation. For being just returned to Beqanna, he finds himself in the company of a rather attractive creature. Ragnar feels his body respond with the swing of her hips...with each step as she gravitates closer. He does not look exactly... ashamed.
Heather gray tresses glides along her skin and Ragnar feels a pinch of jealousy to witness the way it tangles around her in a web of silk. A pull of air steals the musk of her scent hungrily as a large and confident grin settles easily on his lips. She was a lovely little thing.
"Maybe it is I who is lucky." The clip of his tones elude to a foreign birth in lands far more north than Beqanna. Ragnar moves as the mare approaches to circle her, ravishing her with the ice of his playful eyes unabashedly. He does not apologize nor know shame. Ragnar enjoys softness the of mares, their curves, the way they tuck ever so nicely under next to him. As he finished the revolution of her delicately chiseled form, he comes to stand before her with his eyes locked with a face that hovers a foot or so away from her own. If he were too close for comfort, he would let her retreat.
"What is your name, pretty one?" Airy and light are the syllables. They drift from the pale honey lips to close the small space between them. Ragnar feigns interest as he listens with pricked ears for the reply of the water tinted woman. The stallion is enjoying the way she stands before him, the heat of her body. One gold hip shifts to the other when an autumn breeze tugs at the wet mane that snaked along his expertly crafted neck.