Ankyra Sound five nights

it was true that the war had not gone well. they had failed to bring rosalyn home with them, and they had all managed to leave the cliffs with troubling injuries. their failure had inspired a wildfire inside of the young ghost; he was prepared to better himself so that he could take on the curs if they should ever show their face near his home. what fueled him more had been seeing the sandy coat of his brother; to know that he had sought a home with the enemy and that he had decided to fight for their side. the thought caused him to fill with rage, and he forced himself to cast the image from his head.
 
the early rising of the sun had also brought the rising of the wildling. he had stepped out of the grotto and into the bare chill of winter’s grasp. the fur along his neck and shoulders seemed to rise at the touch of it, but he pushed himself through it and onto the beach. he thought it would have been wise for an early morning patrol of their borders. so, he set out toward the entrance of the sound and only barely caught sight of an unfamiliar figure.
 
the girl seemed to carry the scent of rusalka on her coat, so she did not get the violent greeting that would have been reserved to the bold trespasser. instead, the savage ghost drew his crown upward and canted his skull to the left. “who’re you?” he asked in a gravely voice. the sharpness of his hawkish yellow gaze was latched to her face boldly and without social grace.