this old dark machine

No worries!

Onyx... he mulled the name over in his head for a few moments without responding. It was fitting, for her pelt color anyway. The sooty coloration of her coat seemed to be something of a norm for the Teekon Wilds. Kierkegaard could recall several wolves that he had come across who had been gifted with such dark coloration. Shaking the thought away, he blinked his fiery gaze at her once or twice before drawing up a response. “I am Kierkegaard,” he introduced himself with a quiet rumble, muzzle still pointed towards the earth. He was not a wolf who shared his last name very frequently, if ever. It was something that he found unnecessary when conversation with absolute strangers. The ash-colored brute may not have been proud of his heritage, but it was only because he knew nothing of it. Still, there was a strange pang whenever he let slip his byname.