Sea Lion Shores Rotten tropics by the sea

The inky girl took note of his figure and the pale brute regarded her with narrowed brows over fiery golden-orange optics. It seemed – in that moment – that they were to hold each other only in sight. The ghost was interested, but not enough so that he might close the distance on the girl. Instead, he watched as she took a tentative step forward. The brute tensed and lowered his skull toward the sands. He knew enough of war to protect himself. The treading of the dark female was not made out of hostility, though; it seemed that she was approaching him on careful steps. There was something familiar in the amber of her eyes. Had he been a more verbose creature, he would have inquired if they had met once before. Kierkegaard was not certain that he would remember all of the wolves he had encountered in his life. He doubted many of them were still around. Yet, this girl caused his skin to prick with goosebumps and the jagged fur along his neck and spine to rise upward.
 
The haggard creature could almost scent her as she approached, and when he had decided that she had drawn herself close enough, he peeled his lips over jagged canines and issued a warning. The length of his ears swiveled atop his crown and the brute moved with his own step forward. The burning of his gaze did not leave the dark-furred girl. Kierkegaard watched and wondered what her next move would be. If she would decide to move closer, she would be met with a savage snarl.