Lost Creek Hollow soul cleave

the question that was presented was one that struck him as an oddity. the ghoul cared for very little, this was was evident. he was cloaked in a thin layer of grease that caused his dark figure to shimmer against the touch of light. his dark coat was ragged and tattered, standing like jagged peaks along his neck and shoulders. his muzzle was crusted in blood from kills long before that point. it was obvious that he did not care for much. 

so, when this stranger inquired if he cared for company, the ghoul lifted his crown upward and peered on the male with glistening inkjet eyes. the tip of his tail was lifted just three inches from where it had been before. he blinked twice and swiveled his left ear. this wolf was living, he was certain, but the other's lack of fear was reason for pause. the wraith wondered if he was a trick crafted by the devil himself, aimed to wreak havoc. 

no, the ghoul did not care. 

he took another few steps toward the stranger and drew in the scent that he carried. his coat was awash with the aroma of pack wolves. this was a promise of life nearby. with no verbal response, the wildling waited for the stranger to move. should he hold his ground and remain where he was, the ghoul would turn and permit the other to follow.