Sequoia Coast outside, cold and ghosting out with jetlag

The two wolves shared in a dance of love. The ashen mercenary watched with an unphased expression on his rugged face. Both eyes were trained to the coywolf female. It was not his moment to partake in, but he was still quite determined to ensure she had him at her back in every occasion. His mind had wandered to the thought of losing her and though it was a dreadful thing to consider, Kierkegaard did not imagine that he would survive something of that caliber again. Surely, the young boy felt the same for Caiaphas. 

The sea witch turned the pale youth to face him. The ghost watched with a small frown on his dark lips. Amber eyes roamed over the young man before him. Her son... he did not have much to say. While Caiaphas was acting as the introducer, her boy did not seem too verbal. This was all fine. Kierkegaard was not a verbose character at all. To the greeting from the young male, the ashen brute bobbed his head lightly and grumbled a greeting that slipped through gritted teeth. He did not need to confess his feelings for Caiaphas to her young. The ghost had nothing to share with Lycaon. Perhaps, in time, he would find his voice. In the moment, he remained a watchful guardian. The length of his ears swiveled to catch their conversation, but nothing more.