Ankyra Sound llosgi'r wrach a'i halen ei bedd

Grateful for her presence, Kierkegaard could feel himself spring to life as Caiaphas appeared from behind him. Her teeth were not kind and her intent was clear; they would not tolerate trespassing on their borders. As such, the lifeless stump of a creature had seemed to lurch in their position, rolling against the grains of sand with a moan that only succeeded in churning the events against their favor. It would not be long before others would scout down the beach and happen upon the scene. Even on his own, the ghost could have finished the half-life. With the support of even one more member of Grimnismal, they would surely be strung three different ways and disemboweled on the beach.

Without another pause, Kierke lowered his skull and gaped wide his mouth to expose his teeth. He did not care that this wild creature had endured any amount of suffering. It would be over shortly with the work of himself and Caiaphas. Aiming carefully for a chunk of flesh at the back of the stranger’s shoulders, the mercenary intended to pull pieces away until nothing remained. His eyes were trained on the brazen body, having so carelessly washed ashore to their territory. Fate had decided this wolf was to meet his end. Kierkegaard was only a hand in creating a means to such a conclusion. He trusted his partner to manage herself with as much fury and reason as she had in her body.

The sea-washed beast truly had one means of escape: the waters. Still, if they could not manage to rise to their feet to defend themselves, it was not likely they could return to the churning swell and survive again.