Blackfoot Forest Sturm Und Drang

The pallid brute had misunderstood her question. Narrowing his brows, the man stared at her as she elaborated on the information that was being requested. She wanted to know about the wolves of the pack. In spite of the lack of humor in the situation, Kierkegaard curled his lip and chuckled quietly. Perhaps it was the inquiry that the wolves of Rosings could be assassins and nothing more than the soft creatures of the woods. He did not see anything in them that would truly prove to be a threat, but he had been mistaken before.
 
Shrugging broad shoulders, the ghost turned to her and heaved a sigh. “They are… soft,” he growled, a frown creasing his features. “Perhaps even foolish and soft, which means that some of them will be reckless.” Should the wolves decide to turn against him, there would be more power in their numbers and he was fearful of the idea of an uprising. The more he spoke of them, the more the Sairensu male realized that he did not belong with their brood and that he had made a very drastic mistake.