Oystercatcher Tide Pools of vagabonds and hermits

i swear i'm not this bad at answering threads jesus ;-; <333

It wasn’t long before the pools found another body to occupy their space; a dark male with sharp eyes and a lean figure, though this was probably largely due to the famine that had swept the wilds. The bark that had struck Kierkegaard’s ears had not been done with hostility, and so he watched the dark stranger with a careful set of golden eyes. The oyster that he had managed to pull from the pool still sat at his paws, and he glanced down at it swiftly, wondering if it was what had drawn this other wolf over to where he stood. Deciding that he had a better chance of figuring out how to open the mollusk with the help of someone who – perhaps – knew the area better than he, the ghostly figure lifted his tail and flagged it once or twice to show that he was no harm.
 
“Do you know how to open these?” the brute then inquired with a sad glance down to his paws again. His brows furrowed on the shell of the oyster with some frustration. Part of him had wished he had spoken to Caiaphas about surviving on the shores before attempting to keep himself there. The ashen man had always found himself more at home on the cliffs. The sharp and jagged rocks had been a sort of solitude for him in times of need. But the need to survive was greater, and if the yellow-eyed pack leader on the coast had told him that the sea was full of things to hunt, he would have to try.