Ankyra Sound Grubble Rubble

The boy's father is what he was after. Kierkegaard frowned deeply and turned his gaze away from the youth, thinking on the subject for a good long while. It seemed as though the pale youth had wanted to know more about his father. There was a curious prick at the back of his mind that caused him to wonder if the young boy truly was one of Caiaphas' brood, but he could not see her sharp angles on him and he did not share the fiery glint in her eyes. She must have known his father, though, to make such promises to a child. The ghost was certain that she should want Arrille to stay in Grimnismal. Still, something bothered him about the strange way that the young boy spoke.

“D'you remember much about him?” Kierkegaard grumbled in inquiry to the melancholy fellow. He snapped his attention back to the young boy's face and managed to hold all the expression of a thistle bush. His brows remained furrowed and his dark lips were curled downward in a permanently thoughtful frown that creased his aged features.