Stone Circle so i'll follow the birdsong

“It is frustrating that you should pick my words apart while my family stands starving and willing to serve at your door.”

The ghost lifted his gaze then. They had been turned away, so Kierkegaard did now owe them an ounce of his respect. As it stood, he had little left to give anyway. The mercenary felt a pang in his chest as he looked upon his hungry children and the newborn pup that his mate looked so carefully after. It meant they would need to travel again; it meant that they would risk the lives of their pups and themselves in search of a home that would take them. The pack before them did not seem hospitable in the slightest. It was evident that they were ragged and tired, that their limbs could not sustain the weight upon them and they were in desperate need of shelter from the outland. The wolf Stark seemed to speak for the Alpha as well, which caught the ragged hound by surprise; he had never seen a pack where the Beta carried more weight than the one ranked above.

Kierkegaard cast his gaze to the bird that had been offered to them. It struck him as odd. Furrowing his brow and releasing a sigh through his nares, the hound shook his head to the female and flattened his ears to his crown with a curious expression. “If your wolves are struggling to eat, I do not believe that it makes sense to offer hand outs to strangers at your door,” he remarked to her in a quiet thundering voice. The ache that he felt against his tired frame was enough to knock him over, but he turned his head to his mate and cast an apologetic stare. He would carry Svalinn for a while so that she might be able to rest against the weight of him.

“We are only looking to tend to our puppies, just the same as you. Should you have arrived at our border with the same ill luck, we would not have turned you away. It is unfortunate to know that your pack does not extend even the most basic of hospitality to someone in need. If your allies are anything like you, we would only be killing our pups in a waste of time.”

Without much more to say, the gruff old wolf turned to collect his pups, nudging Ephraim sharply with a flash of his teeth to force the child to move; he would be punished later for his behavior on the borders of a pack where they sought shelter. His actions had not painted a positive light on their family. Even though they may have been wild things, Kierkegaard had held fast to his hopes that they had found a place of refuge and a home for the children to grow. He was not pleased with the outcome, and he was not pleased with how his boys had behaved. The years when he had been the same had been long forgotten by him; he knew only his age now. He knew only the ache in his traveled bones.

“This won’t be forgotten.”

Pulling his molten stare from the dark wolf Stark, Kierkegaard nudged his children once and cast a look to his mate, hoping that she would be willing to follow again so that they might search.