Ankyra Sound sheepskin

Through no fault of their own, Kierkegaard did not know Wylla well enough to judge if she would harm his mate or his children. He had only ever seen her approach those on the edges of the pack or passing across the beach. They had truly had very little communication between them, so his judgement was based purely on her age and the few moments he had heard the sharp crack of her tongue against an unsuspecting victim. There was something to be admired in the way she bolstered herself with words, but he would never recognize it. Skill with a tongue was lost on the weather-worn mercenary. He had only ever found his regard to have grown in those who could match him physically. It was something that would likely never change. He would find the bottom of the ocean before he revered the wordsmith.

Wylla seemed as though she had concluded her ominous conversation with the ragged ghost. His ears swiveled atop his crown to meet her word of warning before she turned away. The young leader did not need to worry; Kierkegaard would have bled openly on the edges of the sound in order to protect the land that Caiaphas coveted. If Vigilante did return to their borders, he would be met with a healed warrior; he would be met with astounding fury.