Duck Lake a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones

“Humph… since when have you known me to be fun?” he chided of her with a gentle toss of his muzzle and a small flick of his ashen tassel. The nature of their playful banter was something that he had missed; the companionship of another who was as like-minded as he. Having spent a great deal of his time with the Rosings wolves, the brute could not help but to grow tired with the softness of their minds and their bodies. The great ghost was not meant to suffer through the likes of them – he had been destined for greater things than running a pack he had no emotional investment in. Though, truth be told, the Sairensu male had very little emotional investment in anything. There were a few, but admitting it was the first step to being defeated through it. So Kierkegaard locked those feelings away so that only he could look upon them with lust in his vision.
 
The inky woman offered him an explanation that fell from her mouth with a little too much haste. His brows furrowed and the smirk that had lingered on the leather of his lips had vanished in moments; Seageda had fallen. Immediately, the fire of his gaze roamed her figure to check for signs of her being injured, but it seemed that the incident had occurred some time ago, when he was still lost to the wanderings of his blood and heart. Nevertheless, the ghost could not imagine this woman without the ranks of her home and the culture that had surrounded the place.
 
“Gone,” he echoed in disbelief, eyes still roaming her figure. She had spoken of her success, though, in a new pack that existed in the wilds… on a mountain somewhere. The ash-cloaked man turned his vision toward some unseen object and his ears swiveled atop his crown. It was surprising to him how much the famine had kept his wandering figure in a single place for such a long time. So long that he had not even managed to catch the scent of the Heda or her new pack. Many changes had come and fallen on them, but this was one he had never anticipated. “It is hard to imagine you without your Seageda,” he then breathed in a sort of sigh. There was no pity there, but it was merely a thought echoed into words.