Porcupine Ridge the wind lays heavy

It was not a surprise that there was another wolf in the area. In his time within the Teekon wilds, Kierkegaard had found himself growing less and less startled by the presence of other creatures. It did not mean that he was any less irritated by their incessant chattering and prodding into his activity and intentions. He had never known wolves to be so curious before. Still, it never failed; if the ashen male found himself wandering across the path of another lupine, he could expect to be held up for several minutes – at the very least – while they drilled into him. Yet, there were few exceptions to the rule. There was a minority of others who seemed to have been cut from the same stone as the hulking Sairensu male. Kierkegaard found that he appreciated them more and more with the passing days. Fixing his golden orbs on the approaching female, Kierkegaard frowned thoughtfully at her figure. Pale in coloration, she did not seem entirely out of the ordinary. Even in his ‘meditative’ state, he was careful to follow her steps and the movements of her skull as she glanced towards him curiously. The brute drew his salmon-colored tongue across his lips, flecking against his muzzle with a careless whip before darting back into the cage of teeth where it belonged. His fixated stare did not waver, but instead trailed after the female with no real amount of interest, but a high guard.