Ankyra Sound On the horizon, out on the edge of the world

The way her lip peeled and hitched against her fangs suggested that she was not likely to take his ‘no’ as an answer. The brute seethed at her, ears falling to lay flat against his crown. The ghost was pinned between a rock and a hard place, though he bristled against her word and instruction with a defiant gleam in his eye. Kierkegaard knew that he did not have much of a place to go if he should be thrown from the ranks of Grimnismal. He thought for a moment to seek out Thurin and her dragons; he had worked for her before and he knew he could do it again to keep himself alive and well. It was the pups that put a difficult spin on his situation. The ashen wolf had never imagined he would have grown to be so protective of them. He had never known what it meant to be a father before.

“I ain’t going anywhere, girl,” he spat at her with a cross expression. Were it not for the scent that traveled to him with the wind, Kierkegaard would have challenged her for her rank. Instead, he turned his skull sharply in the direction of her hawkish gaze and he froze. Caiaphas moved toward them with an intensity he had only seen on her a few times. The sharp stab of her gaze bore into Wylla, and he stepped aside to allow for her to enter the scene. The sound would always belong to the citrine-eyed sea witch; he would never see it under anyone else, and it was this that caused him to peel back so abruptly. If there was anyone who should have challenged the leader of Grimnismal, it was Caiaphas.

The ghost extended his muzzle and touched it lightly to her flank – a sign of support. In the back of his mind, he worried for their pups. Too afraid that he would inspire a newfound wickedness inside of the young leader, he did not turn his head to look in the direction of the grotto. He held his gaze level with Wylla and waited.