Ankyra Sound something rotten in the state of denmark

Crabs and dog-fish. The prospect of new food excited Vlad, who might have made a decent zoologist or restauranteur if the heavens had not put his soul in the body of a wolf. He bobbed his head fiercely, spraying spittle in an uneven rain over the edge of the illuminated pool. "This gud!" he declared. Beach life seemed less and less ridiculous the more she revealed about it, and his nose had already forgiven the peculiar smell that pervaded the cave. "I come beck," he told her, deciding then and there that yes, this would all do nicely. "I go, find meny wolf, come beck - you teach how cetch creb!" Vlad had tried and failed several times earlier that day, suffering the might of the scuttling devils' claws each time. The brute's tone became serious then - at least by his standards. He turned his chin up and levelled a searching gaze at the conniving little cave-dweller. "You not make lie to Vlad, I hoping. What is name? I call 'Bleckface' wolf?" Caiaphas was far beyond his pronuncial abilities.