Oystercatcher Tide Pools of vagabonds and hermits

There was almost a serpentine swivel of his neck as he craned his head in the direction of the dark male hoping that the words would not be lost on his ears. Though he was not yet an old creature, the years were wearing on him and he had found himself getting hard of hearing. It was a minute frustration for the pallid beast, as he had faced many different challenges. The thought of losing his hearing was one that frightened him; all of the loss that he had faced before had been because of a choice that he had made. If he were to lose his ability to listen, it would have been entirely out of his hands. Fate was a fickle and unforgiving creature. She had a way of preying on those who were already worn by their life events.
 
Realizing that he had remained near the tide pools for too long, the ghostly creature sought the gaze of the other wolf for a brief moment before he knew he was to excuse himself. A tired dipping of his muzzle was the gesture that was offered to Constantine. “It’s time for me to go,” he spoke quietly and turned his gaze toward the direction of home. The oysters would not provide him with the sustenance that he needed to continue trekking across the wilds. There was a small flag of his tail as he turned to depart from the company of the swarthy brute. Kierkegaard’s shape disappeared along the edges of the shore.