Their journey had led them far from the sea, and the pups had grown restless and tired of trekking so far on youthful paws. While he had done his best to tend to them as he could, the aged ghost was not in his prime as he had once been and the weight of them had proven to be too much to carry for very long. Once they had rested for a short while, he had discussed with Caiaphas about finding a suitable home – anywhere – that would allow their children a safe place to grow and to learn. He could not stand to imagine what might happen to the whelps if they were to continue on as vagabonds. He had known the lifestyle from his own youth, and it had turned him into a savage and sour old man at a very young age. There were many times that he and his sister had nearly died, and he knew that he did not want that for his own kin.

As they neared the marked borders of a pack, Kierkegaard paused and turned back to his mate and his pups with a tired expression. The glimmer of his molten stare had faded, and his ragged coat stood at odd ends along his neck and spine. The ghost was not doing well, and the travels had taken a toll on his already weak state. He had not been the same since he had washed ashore those many months ago. At that time, he was not picky about where they landed; he wanted only a home for his family. He needed to know that they were safe. With haggard cough, the ghost drew his head and called for any who might meet him on the edges of the territory so that he might present his pups and his mate with a place to live.

Stark was reluctant to leave Valette for too long in any fashion - watching their brood when she needed to stretch her legs, or get some food, or just.... Be not saddled down with their litter. He had to remind himself that Valette was a more than capable parent and didn't need his smothering but he'd never had the chance to just be a father. He'd learned as quickly as he could, mastering cleaning and soothing although him and his worthless nipples couldn't feed for a damn - which @Arlette had quickly reminded him - he made every attempt to keep them happy. When he'd heard the call to the borders it brought him to attention and he cut his path around the territory short to answer the call.

He arrived to a pair and a gaggle of children, the male in particular looking ragged and halfway drug to deaths doorstep. Already he was uneasy with the situation, his own family taking priority and so many other tiny mouths to feed - although Easthollow was proudly thriving with Valette's hard work he did not like the notion of being taxed with so many other young. "Why here?" Stark asked, exchanging a brief glance with Illecebra. 

The first to meet them was a slate-coated female with a bird clutched in her jaws. The sight of the animal made his mouth salivate with a deep-rooted need to devour. Kierkegaard reigned the instinct in and swallowed stiffly. Yet, in an act of selfless kindness, the stranger offered the bird to them and instructed that she would call upon her leaders. Were he a younger man, his pride would have driven him to snap wickedly at his child for taking the pity meal. Instead, he watched almost enviously as Ephraim rushed forward and began to pull the prey bird away with desperate and scrabbling little paws. The ghost knew that they were to eat first; he would suffer until they had found peace for the family.

Caiaphas was the first to speak about her former rank and the home they had left behind. Kierkegaard listened with a single ear swiveled toward her. His dark lips were curled downward in an impressive frown. Once she had concluded, there was a dark-cloaked male who drew near to them. The ghost regarded the man with a curious expression, neither unimpressed nor apathetic to the cut of his gait and frame. It was with a quick remark that the male boiled down to their reason for being there.

Not long after him, a lighter-toned woman was quick to pull herself toward the scene. She entered with authority; just higher than the male and much more evident than the first female who had offered his family the bird. Kierkegaard felt his chest grow tired and his eyes drifted toward his children with a worrisome fluttering – like the wings of a thousand butterflies taking flight – in his gut. The leader of the pack they had found seemed as though she was ready to cut straight to the business of it, as well. Without any formalities, the haggard old man motioned with a swing of his muzzle toward his young and his mate.

“Our home was invaded by a large bear. It is no longer safe for our children to live there. We need a home for them… we need somewhere that they can thrive and grow. We cannot continue to wander these wilds in our state. Our youngest cannot even hold himself up on his own limbs,” Kierkegaard answered her with a respectful and short dip of his skull toward the earth. It was in this action that he felt the weight of his weariness against his shoulders and back. The ragged hound’s limbs quivered with the force it took to hold himself upright. “Our pups are tired and cannot go further. If we should force it, they will surely not make it. They need a home.”

It was as simply as could be put. The ghost did not wish to be part of a new pack; he did not wish to climb the ranks again, or to establish himself as a mercenary for another group. He wished only for the safety of his young, and the opportunity for his mate to thrive. There would not be many days left under his scarred pelt.

Illidan had stumbled forward with a drunken tiredness as his father’s call went up over the territory. The young boy did not understand why they couldn’t just make a home right where they stood. It was as good a place as any, right? Lack of good rest and a distinct lack of tasty food had put the dark-hooded youth in a foul mood. When the first stranger arrived with a dead bird in her muzzle, he started drooling at the bird. She offered it to their father, but Ephraim rushed forward and grabbed it faster than Kierkegaard, causing Illidan to smirk pleasantly.
 
The young boy’s larger frame wavered heavily as he trotted toward his brother with the glint of hunger in his gaze. The boy was hungry. He was not about to let his sibling take the entire meal for himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to allow his parents to have a lick of it. With a quick motion of his skull for Raleska to follow, Illidan teetered sleepily after Ephraim and sought to sink his fangs into the tender meats of the bird that had been snatched. He didn’t care what the adults were saying; he cared only for satisfying the ache in the pit of his gut.

His first impression wasn't great. Some of the children seemed ill-mannered, and while he could forgive that because they were young, the way the male worded things made him uneasy. The children, not 'we', needed a home. He wasn't willing to risk his own litter for the prospects of another's. It sounded cruel in his head, and truly it was, but he had a priority to keep Valette and their children safe. He glanced at Valette just before returning his gaze to the adults of the small group. "We have own our litter to raise and protect." Stark said simply. It wasn't that he was heartless, no, he'd raised abandoned children before, but now things were different.

He felt different. 

The Alpha of the Keep might have swept them in with little thought but Easthollow was such an integrated pack he wondered how the strangers would work themselves into their group. "You said they need a home. We don't need an abandoned litter on our borders, especially with so many young mouths to feed." Maybe if it had sounded any way other than 'here's some puppies, enjoy.' Stark might have entertained more of a possibility - as it was he shifted his gaze to his mate to see what her take on things was. 

“It is frustrating that you should pick my words apart while my family stands starving and willing to serve at your door.”

The ghost lifted his gaze then. They had been turned away, so Kierkegaard did now owe them an ounce of his respect. As it stood, he had little left to give anyway. The mercenary felt a pang in his chest as he looked upon his hungry children and the newborn pup that his mate looked so carefully after. It meant they would need to travel again; it meant that they would risk the lives of their pups and themselves in search of a home that would take them. The pack before them did not seem hospitable in the slightest. It was evident that they were ragged and tired, that their limbs could not sustain the weight upon them and they were in desperate need of shelter from the outland. The wolf Stark seemed to speak for the Alpha as well, which caught the ragged hound by surprise; he had never seen a pack where the Beta carried more weight than the one ranked above.

Kierkegaard cast his gaze to the bird that had been offered to them. It struck him as odd. Furrowing his brow and releasing a sigh through his nares, the hound shook his head to the female and flattened his ears to his crown with a curious expression. “If your wolves are struggling to eat, I do not believe that it makes sense to offer hand outs to strangers at your door,” he remarked to her in a quiet thundering voice. The ache that he felt against his tired frame was enough to knock him over, but he turned his head to his mate and cast an apologetic stare. He would carry Svalinn for a while so that she might be able to rest against the weight of him.

“We are only looking to tend to our puppies, just the same as you. Should you have arrived at our border with the same ill luck, we would not have turned you away. It is unfortunate to know that your pack does not extend even the most basic of hospitality to someone in need. If your allies are anything like you, we would only be killing our pups in a waste of time.”

Without much more to say, the gruff old wolf turned to collect his pups, nudging Ephraim sharply with a flash of his teeth to force the child to move; he would be punished later for his behavior on the borders of a pack where they sought shelter. His actions had not painted a positive light on their family. Even though they may have been wild things, Kierkegaard had held fast to his hopes that they had found a place of refuge and a home for the children to grow. He was not pleased with the outcome, and he was not pleased with how his boys had behaved. The years when he had been the same had been long forgotten by him; he knew only his age now. He knew only the ache in his traveled bones.

“This won’t be forgotten.”

Pulling his molten stare from the dark wolf Stark, Kierkegaard nudged his children once and cast a look to his mate, hoping that she would be willing to follow again so that they might search.

Once their mother had swooped in to snatch the bird from them, Illidan looked at her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He did not understand. They were starving, and she had taken their only source of food, because why? The child felt a pang in his chest and he could sense tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. There was a burning in the pit of his stomach that reflected shame and cast an expression on the dark-hooded youth to show that he did not understand. It was only then that he heard the words of the adults, and Illidan then looked from his father to his mother and back to the strangers who sat on the other side of the marked border. It was then that he painted them as monsters.
 
“Ma? What happen? They don’t want us?”
 
His question was soft for a child that rarely spoke. He looked to his mother with pleading eyes and then back to the strangers who had seemingly turned them away. He was afraid; Illidan did not want to travel any more. His legs were tired, and he was hungrier than he had ever remembered being in his life. He wanted to stay there in the pack. He wanted to find a den and nestle down without worrying about bears that would come into the night and devour them.
 
“A-are we gon die, ma?”
 
Illidan rose to his feet tiredly and felt a huff leave his muzzle. He did not know if he could walk any further, but he feared being left behind to wolves who were too cruel to accept them into their home. More than this, he did not understand what was wrong with them that they should have been turned away. He looked to his father with a quivering lip and a tail that was tucked close to his rear. He knew that Kierkegaard would have harsh words for them, but he did not fear that nearly as much as he feared trekking out further into the unknown with no end in sight.

Stark had set aside his bleeding heart and turned an ear towards his mate to hear her input. He knew that Xan had a litter, given the state that his mate had been in when he'd visited. She'd already looked ready to whelp when he had seen them, and that was several weeks ago. The addition of the wandering family might not be such a competition to them, and the idea sounded good to him. It was at least a lead on a possible home. Stark listened as the well-worn down male spat his piece, some ire lacing his words as if it was bad of him to think of his own children. Neither adult had presented an option that sounded more than a refuge for their children. Neither had mentioned what they might be willing to do; instead, all they had said was what they would take. Stark's heart went out to the children but his own newborns had to come first. It was cruel, it was ruthless, but it was the way of the wilds. If you couldn't ensure you provided food and shelter, you had no rights breeding and endangering your young.

Bitterly he remembered how thin Octavia had been, how small and scrawny Tambourine seemed - and how he'd run himself and the pack ragged. Even ate the meat of their own, just to keep them alive. No, he wasn't going to do that again. 

He'd waited until they marched their children on, choosing not to respond to the words of the male or female nor the small pitiful sounds of the whelps. There wasn't an option that didn't jeopardize their own, and with Arlette specifically in his mind, he simply couldn't condone any sharing of their resources. He gave a long sigh as he turned to face Valette. "I feel like shit." He admitted freely, reaching out to sooth and errant clump of fur along her nape. "I just.. After seeing what happened with Octavia and Tambourine I just can't risk it with our kids." He felt like a monster, he felt like an asshole, but even if he could he wouldn't have changed his mind.