The Sentinels if you are the dealer, i'm out of the game

Smokestep peered at this stranger with a curious glint to his gaze. He was an interesting specimen; the pirate would have guessed that he had some amount of coyote in his blood, for his features were moderately tapered and he appeared lean against the backdrop of the burnt wood. When the other wolf looked at him, it was with a pair of burning eyes. The seafaring young brute was intrigued by the stranger, and so his ears swiveled to meet him with a curious expression and a slight cant of his skull to the left. It seemed that when the unknown male spoke, he weaved an image of ghosts and sadness. There was something in his tone that allowed Smokestep to feel far away from the place where they stood; as if his limbs were not firmly rooted to the earth.

The inquiry that followed left the pirate quiet for a moment before he nodded his head toward the stranger and turned his skull in the direction of the bay. He could not see his beloved ocean from where they stood, and it made him anxious and aggressive. Still, the unnamed brute spoke of the territory as if he had known it in another life. Kingfisher swiveled his ears in the direction of the coywolf and he frowned thoughtfully. “Aye. It was me father's pack and I've come to reclaim it in the name of Cairn,” he remarked in a husky voice. Then, a curious glint crossed through his bi-colored optics and he raised his crown upward.

“Ye don't look the type to commune with ghosts, mate. What brings ye to this neck o' the woods?”