Ankyra Sound the horseman

The water brought life back to him for a moment. Kierkegaard did not feel as though sleep still clung to his eyelids. The ash-furred brute waded out until the water beat against his chest before he turned his head upward to glare at the hovering gull. It cawed again, causing his fur to prickle along his back and shoulders. He flattened his ears and barked at the bird, watching as it caught the wind and floated away to linger elsewhere. As he did this, Kierkegaard caught a familiar figure in the corner of his sight. The ghost turned his skull toward the young boy and tossed his head upward in an informal greeting of sorts.

“You get your answers, boy?” he barked back to the youthful wolf. There was a hint of a smirk on his dark lips and his molten gaze danced with just enough teasing mirth. He had recalled the fire that burned inside of the younger fellow; their last conversation had been a passionate one, but Kierkegaard was far more interested to know if Arrille had found anything worth while.