Ankyra Sound not afraid of the storm that comes my way

He did not expect company, so much so that when another made their presence known he turned, expression visible with his shock and surprise. It became apparent to him that she hadn't been expecting anyone else, either, for the appendage she'd been carrying — what resembled a fish's fin to him in the brief moments he had to glimpse at it — had fallen from her grasp. Surprise had not lasted long, however, before hostility took over. His own hackles bristled, though not with malice. He did not understand the hostility he was met with. It reminded him too much of an Alpha protecting their lands...only this territory was abandoned. Had been abandoned when the sea had tossed him — barely more than a barely live ragdoll — upon it's shores. He knew because he had looked. If there had ever been a pack here (he was too young to know), there were only faint remnants.

“I don't mean any harm,” Kjalarr replied when he caught sight of the outrage upon her face. “I'm-” What? Jorunn? Tevinter? Kjalarr? Kjaunter? All of them. None of them. He didn't even know what to call himself anymore. He was Jorunn by birth, Jorunn to the wolves of the Moonspear, Tevinter by choice, and Kjalarr by the gift of the name. He was not aware it's meaning, or the power of it, what it symbolized to him and his family but that did not mean that he did not realize that it meant something more. “Kjalarr. My name is Kjalarr and I was just-” What? Saying goodbye? “hoping to close a chapter of my life, I guess. I was swept away by the sea when I was a small boy and I washed up here, on this shore.” He could not forget, did not want to forget. Yet, he sought closure, ready to face forward instead of constantly looking back.