blindsided

The instant that the female’s voice touched his lengthy ears, a ghoulish smirk settled on his dark features, and he cantered in the direction of her snarl without even a second of hesitation. It really was his only way of discerning where, in the fog, she was located. Had she kept her mouth shut, he would have stumbled around lost… chasing nothing more than a ghostly snarl. The talk of other wolves very rarely was a true representation of their bite. When he had stepped through the fog, his fiery gaze settling on the small form of the female, the ashen brute forced himself to suppress a throaty chuckle. Peering down at her, his large frame like a shadow over her pristine white form, Kierkegaard scowled at the strange creature. “You talk awfully big for something so small,” he snapped at her with gnashing yellow canines. For a moment, he had almost mistaken the white creature for a mere pup. Her voice was more mature, however. She was peculiar, if anything. Kierkegaard stood like a mountain over the meager figure of the she-wolf.