Porcupine Ridge threshold

“Up here!” a ghost of a voice seemed to strike the air with a strange tsss noise, drawing Kierkegaard’s attention upwards to the sight of a distinctly marked female. She gestured with her narrow muzzle, and he followed the line to where she had pointed out an overhang in the ridge. The storm would get worse; already the rain was starting to dabble against the earth, sprinkling his ash-colored pelt. Kierkegaard was not foolish enough to believe that he could travel back to Moz in such weather. Without waiting for a response, the charcoal female seemed to already have made her way in the direction of the protruding rock. Kierke followed suit. Taking his movements in leaps and bounds, the pallid male trailed behind the darker stranger with a watchful eye. Another burst of lightning illuminated the skyline, though the thunder that followed seemed to have come much later than before. Still, Kierkegaard paused for a moment, his bright optics watching the jagged glimmer of light before it disappeared and left the two creatures standing in a lack of light. A heavy huff fell from his nose before he averted his gaze back to the retreating form of the strange female wolf. Clearing the distance between where he had been and where the overhang was located took him only a few moments. His lengthy strides seemed to carry him with a sense of urgency. When he was out of the drizzling rain, however, his bright stare fell on the companion that he had found in the tempestuous weather. Blinking at her slowly, Kierke lowered his head and shook his ashen pelt to free the water droplets that had gathered there.