The man stepped away from Rosings without feeling his gut drop. It had been one of his first times since he had overthrown their leader. With the prey having found its way back into the land, and the pack’s recent hunt through their woods, he was growing back into the mountain of a creature he had once been. Though the fur along his neck and spine was still ragged and wispy, and there was a certain serpentine build to his ghostly body, the muscles beneath his coat were taut once more and needed to be worked. So it was a steady lope that lead him across the stretch of terrain and in the direction of the lake. The water, he knew, would be a refreshing change from the thick tangle of trees and foliage of Rosings.
 
Once there, the brute caught sight of a few ducks that splashed about in the water. He drew his tongue across his grizzled muzzle and narrowed his brows on their figures. The ghost had never been proficient at catching birds to eat, but it had been some time since he’d tried them and knew the ducks to be delicious meals. Though momentarily distracted by the birds, the brute does catch sight of an inky figure who seemed to have the same intention. Instead of taking the opportunity himself, the pale man watched from where he stood on the shore.

The dark woman eyed him for a moment before she decided that her potential catch was of more importance; the ashen brute did not blame her for the choice she’d made. He watched with a smoldering gaze as she darted toward the ducks, kicking up tufts of sand behind her as she went. A few of the birds took flight and some attempted to head into the water. The woman followed into the shallows and managed to clasp her fangs around the throat of one of the birds, though her footing became unstable and she nearly tumbled in, losing the duck between her fangs. Once she had grounded herself, he watched her pull her body to the shore again and he found the catch an impressive one.
 
It seemed that the inky creature was eyeing the shoreline for his figure, but he had not moved from down the sands. His fiery optics danced as they watched her continue to reach something of higher ground. Without speaking, Kierkegaard lowered his skull towards the damp earth and trotted forward. The long and jagged fur along his neck danced to and fro against the light breeze. The length of his ears were pulled upward so that he could catch any sudden sounds that might have come from ahead of him.  

The pale brute watched as her fur bristled slightly upon him drawing nearer and he allowed for a smirk to curl the dark of his lips upwards only slightly. The dark woman had always been a vicious warrior; a fighter of all things, and he did not doubt that this would never change. Once familiarity had set in, she tore a chunk of her kill off and tossed it in his direction. The ghost parted his jaws and with a snap, clasped his fangs around the meat. Kierkegaard then lowered his head and tore a chunk away, swallowing it without chewing it. The taste of the bird on his throat was divine, and so he ripped away the remainder of it without pause and wormed it down the back of his throat.
 
Her words struck his ears and the brute drew them forward, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as if looking upon an old friend. “You never gave me the benefit of the doubt before, why should that change?” the great brute teased with a flash of his fiery optics. The Heda looked well enough, but he was surprised to see her in the Teekon Wilds and so far away from her home. Wondering what had drawn her to such an area, the brute lowered his skull somewhat and cast an curious glance toward her.

The smirk did not fade on his features as she recalled his plummeting from the cliffside into the waters below. There was still a nasty scar along his back haunch from the tumble, but it was one of the many that he considered character building. A rumbling chuckle escaped from his lips as he listened to the dark woman speak of that day, and he found himself longing for the past for only a brief moment. Things had been simpler in those times. “Lucky,” he echoed with a sarcastic tone clasping onto the word. “I planned the whole thing,” he then added with a sly wink, knowing that it was false. That day had been sheer luck on his part, but the ghostly figure always had a penchant for getting himself into trouble and then clumsily getting himself out.
 
In reference to the bounty on his head, the brute lifted his brows and allowed a quiet hmm to slip past his lips. “That is because they believe the sea claimed it. Let’s keep it that way.” Though he was certain that there were several other bounties that had not been claimed in association to him. “How long have you been in the wilds?” the brute then inquired of the Heda with a single quirked brow on his pale face.

“Humph… since when have you known me to be fun?” he chided of her with a gentle toss of his muzzle and a small flick of his ashen tassel. The nature of their playful banter was something that he had missed; the companionship of another who was as like-minded as he. Having spent a great deal of his time with the Rosings wolves, the brute could not help but to grow tired with the softness of their minds and their bodies. The great ghost was not meant to suffer through the likes of them – he had been destined for greater things than running a pack he had no emotional investment in. Though, truth be told, the Sairensu male had very little emotional investment in anything. There were a few, but admitting it was the first step to being defeated through it. So Kierkegaard locked those feelings away so that only he could look upon them with lust in his vision.
 
The inky woman offered him an explanation that fell from her mouth with a little too much haste. His brows furrowed and the smirk that had lingered on the leather of his lips had vanished in moments; Seageda had fallen. Immediately, the fire of his gaze roamed her figure to check for signs of her being injured, but it seemed that the incident had occurred some time ago, when he was still lost to the wanderings of his blood and heart. Nevertheless, the ghost could not imagine this woman without the ranks of her home and the culture that had surrounded the place.
 
“Gone,” he echoed in disbelief, eyes still roaming her figure. She had spoken of her success, though, in a new pack that existed in the wilds… on a mountain somewhere. The ash-cloaked man turned his vision toward some unseen object and his ears swiveled atop his crown. It was surprising to him how much the famine had kept his wandering figure in a single place for such a long time. So long that he had not even managed to catch the scent of the Heda or her new pack. Many changes had come and fallen on them, but this was one he had never anticipated. “It is hard to imagine you without your Seageda,” he then breathed in a sort of sigh. There was no pity there, but it was merely a thought echoed into words.

If he had been another man, the ghost would have found the disbanding of Seageda to be a melancholy thought. Life had taught him that the rise and fall of packs was commonplace; he had taken part in many of the wars that were fought to disband another group. Thurin was a comrade, and he had been very aware of the meaning behind her home, but it was not a subject that he would do well to dwell upon. If the ghost was permitted to speak of it more thoroughly, he would have taken the form of an apathetic brute… and this was not flattering for either of them. Instead, he listened as she spoke of a new claim within the wilds. His lengthy ears drew forward and he canted his head to the left with a bemused expression.
 
“Drageda,” he repeated with a ghost of a smirk on his dark lips. When the dark warrior went on to inquire of his whereabouts, the pallid brute breathed a sigh. Kierkegaard knew that his time was drawing in to a close on the Rosings pack. “There’s a wood,” he pointed his inky nose in the direction of the forest, “where I have usurped their leader and claimed his rank. I do not wish to remain there for long, though.” The wolves of that forest were meek and he did not want his figure to walk beside them.