Ankyra Sound sheepskin

Vigilante hadn't been scouring long when he was accosted. A jagged titan with a hitch in his step came near. The ghostly warden threatened him mostly with his staggering presence, but if Vigilante felt a daub of fear on him, it was impossible to tell. He hid whatever he felt in that moment well behind a cool, unaffected expression. Bodily, he regarded the packwolf respectfully: he assumed a non-threatening stance, and forwent any defensive posturing. He was not afraid.

In fact, he was allured. This was a wolf he would have liked to have met in his prime. A wolf he would have liked to have run with; to have called his fearsome brother. But this haggard guardian's "running" days were long gone. He now seemed more of a "strong trot" fellow, and Vigilante would be the first to admit he wanted to take advantage of this. For if this was the patriarch here, then he saw the prospect of a win for himself. How easy would it be to take what power this male had? To become comforter to his daughters and granddaughters when he "suddenly and mysteriously" died? Vigilante felt a little giddy and forgot about the sea.

"A home," he told the fierce buffer flatly. "A reason besides myself to use my teeth."