Ankyra Sound ancient stones

With the strains of new life, Kierkegaard had not found very much sleep, and had spent a great deal of his time watching. He was careful to keep an eye on Caiaphas, and he spent his free moments hunting so that she might eat to sustain the pups. The ghost did his best to be available as often as he could for the sharp woman; he had only hoped to be a diligent guardian while she rested and tended to the whelps. There was a part of him that could not help but to be intrigued by their shapes and movements. He would follow one as it would worm its way just too far from the warmth of its mother and then cry. Kierkegaard would lean forward and place it back where it belonged with a gentle touch.

As Raleska moved toward him on frail limbs, he made space for her between his legs and watched as she closed the space between them and found the thick tufts of fur at his chest. With a slow approach, he moved his skull down and pressed his nose into her back. The ghost inhaled deeply, memorizing her scent as his kin and released a short breath of air against her thin coat.