Blackfoot Forest cried his wife impatiently.

There was a triumphant feeling in the pit of the ghost’s gut as his fangs clasped around the scruff of the pack wolf. The opposing male was frantic in his attempts to latch his teeth on anything. Kierkegaard was wild, driven by need, but he was not unstoppable. The pack wolf found flesh on the Sairensu male’s shoulder. The ashen brute could feel this man’s fangs as they dug into the skin near his neck. Trying to adjust his large frame, Kierke tossed his skull from side to side, hoping to shake the pack wolf enough to get his teeth out of his shoulder blade. The scent of blood was in the air, but it was no longer just the prey that lingered there.
 
A frightening growl erupted from his maw as the stranger found flesh again; this time in the skin along Kierkegaard’s chest. Releasing his hold on the wolf’s scruff, the pallid ghost lowered his skull towards the earth in a defensive manner, keeping his throat safely guarded from a potential attack. His wild, fiery gaze sought the prey animal that the other wolf had managed to capture. It wasn’t much, but it would quell the hunger in the loner’s gut. Darting forward, Kierkegaard aimed his shoulder towards the other male in hopes that he might be able to knock the creature over.