Ankyra Sound ancient stones

Noisy as she was, there was something strangely beautiful in the fragile creature’s frail body and churning limbs. Kierkegaard watched her tiredly, a smile lingering on the dark line of his lips. She cried and wailed, legs thrusting outward and pulling her toward whatever it was that demanded her attention. The ghostly hound stretched his neck and lifted her tiny body up, clutching at the scruff along the back of her neck, then placed her snugly against the thick tufts of jagged fur at his chest. Little Raleska could enjoy the warmth that he provided and hopefully would cease her cries. The ashen brute peered at her with a glint of curiosity in the molten orange of his gaze before he ran a loving tongue along the top of her head and allowed her to continue hunting in the jungle of his ash colored coat.