Ankyra Sound only the good die young

Movement was damn near impossible.  Every labored step shot sharp streaks of ache across the bastard's skeletal frame.  The dried blood of the fray still clung in coagulated bits, matting down Reek's unkempt black fur.  The broken wolf was an ugly sight to behold as he lurched and limped his way down the beach.  He swayed back and forth in an awkward lockstep, still unable to put weight on his newly reset leg.  Though his injuries were great, the ragged wolf considered himself lucky to be alive, unlike that pup, whatever his name was.

Kevlyn, or something like that... who knows?  The bastard never really got the opportunity to talk to the kid in detail.  He only ever really saw him at night in the males' den, and then no one was in the mood for talking.  Kid brought it on himself.  Shouldn't have come.  War isn't a child's game to play.  

One awkward step after another, he continued his walk.  Spyridon stood in the distance, forlorn and lost in thought.  The sad, thick stillness of the sound could be cut with a knife.  Reek wasn't one for the sads, though, in this situation he found it difficult to remain his usual jovial self.  A whole mix of emotions were beginning to boil over inside the broken bastard; anger, fear, and an overwhelming sense of cosmic irony.  

"επιβήτορας," he grunted in greeting to his superior as he approached.  Pantaliemon had begun to teach him the language of the sea.  However, progress was slow and practice was necessary. "Σαντ, ναί?"[1]  


[1]Sad, yes?