The water clapped against the shoreline with a frightening sound. Kierkegaard watched it with a careful expression. The sea had never truly been his home; though he understood Caiaphas' fondness for the waters and the brisk air. The saline that clung to the air had been harsh for the first few days, but he had grown accustomed to it. Grimnismal had a good strong group of wolves in their ranks. The ghost was impressed with the speed that they had come together and built the home. He would have expected nothing less from the dark-hooded female, though. While he had not had much of an encounter with Wylla, Kierkegaard was certain that the time would come.

Padding across the sands, the ragged man aimed for the borders of their pack. He had wanted to ensure that they were marked well – clearly – so that passersby would not find themselves wandering into the sound. Already, he had taken a defensive stance on the territory that they had claimed. Though he had aged considerably, the pale figure was still more than capable of keeping trespassers far away from their land and the caches they had started.

Drawing closer to the edges of the pack, the rough male lifted his leg and pissed to mark their terrain. He paused to survey the surroundings with a grim expression on his features before he continued on his path; a dutiful sentry.

The numbers in Grimnismal were small enough that Kierkegaard did not yet feel suffocated by those around him. For a good majority of the time, he was able to slip quietly away to tend to his own matters. Oftentimes his trips around the borders were quiet ones; uninterrupted by any of the others in the territory. It surprised him to hear the chuff that sounded the presence of another. The brute huffed quietly and turned his skull to peer at a young girl, alight with a smile and short bounce to her step. His ragged frame seemed to slow a bit to see if she was inclined to catch up with him. Though a cheery smile had spread across her features, the ghostly male stood like a statue – expressionless and gruff – against the oceanic backdrop.

Fortunately enough, the ghost had not witnessed her stumbling, nor her short save. He had been occupied with his own thoughts as she had done it, and he had not been expecting the company of any other Grimnismal members. As she had made a point to announce her presence, Kierke fell into the assumption that she needed something of him. So, he stood rigid and uncomfortable as he watched the unknown girl close some of the distance between them.

The joy did not fade from her expression as she closed some of the remaining space between them. Even her greeting seemed to ring out with a jubilee that Kierkegaard could never have hoped to match. His molten gaze lingered on her for a short time as she trotted forward and inquired as to what he was doing, adding that she would join him as company for a short while if he would like. The ghostly figure swung his head to look at her with a dull blink before he nodded his head.

“If you'd like,” the mercenary rumbled in a gruff timbre. His eyes roamed her figure for another second or two before he continued on his beaten path with a steady sway of his body. Kierkegaard kept an eye out for anything that might seem amiss. The brute was not strong in social situations, so he did not know what was appropriate to say to the exuberant girl. “Your name?” the ghost inquired with a swiveling ear.

The dark girl introduced herself without missing a beat and Kierkegaard nodded his head softly in response to her name. Then, she inquired for his own and the ashen male cast her a sidelong glance before providing his own moniker in return, “Kierkegaard.” His voice was gruff and tired sounding, but he continued to plod forward in anticipation that she would follow after him without much fail. His last name didn't matter much to him, so he rarely offered it to those who asked for a calling, but he had not yet shed it and anticipated that he would hold onto it until he passed.

Moving on long legs, he made his way around to a few corners that had not been marked well enough and made sure that they reeked of the scent of Grimnismal. For as protective as Caiaphas was of the territory, he wanted to make sure that it was guarded well. Drawing his muzzle back toward the dark woman called Fearghal, he canted his head just slightly to the right. “You been here long?”

“Hmm,” he mused in a gruff tone. This was really a customary response to those who would speak to him. Kierkegaard was not fond of speaking back, but he knew that he was intended to mingle with the rest of them. He was surprised that he had been there as long as she had, but he had never crossed paths with her long enough to have a conversation. It didn’t bother him much, so he didn’t opt to comment. Instead, he continued on their path and found it in himself to mark the borders one last time. Having found that their task had been completed, the ghost wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation would lead. He turned to her with a pair of molten eyes trained on her face and frowned thoughtfully. Should she have an idea, he would join or depart.