Whitefish River It's a beautiful and a burning thing

Kierkegaard was always sour. He spent his entire existence on that earth in a perpetual state of sardonic expressions and ghoulish scowls. It was simply his nature; he had raised himself for the better part of his childhood. This left the Sairensu wolf with very little room to adjust to the way that society would have preferred him. His only real form of companionship had been his sister, and even she was more wild than most would have liked. It wasn’t that he had anything against the stranger in front of him. He was feral, wild… he did not belong socializing. Flicking his ears forward a bit and shaking his head at her question, he frowned. “No,” he stated steadily, drawing his gaze from her back to where he had been swept away from his fishing spot by the current in the river. “I was attempting to fish. Current’s too strong,” he then explained to the eager woman. His brows twitched upwards as he glanced back towards her. She didn’t seem to stop. A ghostly smile flashed along his dark lips and he shook his head at her consistent babbling. Kierkegaard was not entirely sure if he was making the female nervous or if she normally spoke novels above her company. “Vienna,” he tasted her name on his lips with a thoughtful frown and a slight nod of his head. “I am Kierkegaard,” the ashen brute then introduced with a slow dip of his large skull towards the earth.