Porcupine Ridge threshold

There was a possibility that Kierkegaard and Caiaphas were something of kindred spirits. He could reason with the desire – no, the need – to find an outlet in the vast expanse of earth and sky. The wanderer had carried that very same yearning in the deepest fibers of his marrow. He had gazed upon the harsh cartography of the land and wondered how high he could climb before it fell away to nothing more than a flood of space. It was rare to find someone of that caliber. Even in his cold detached state, he could not have fought that moment of connection with the narrow-bodied coywolf. Forcing himself to turn his attention back to the girl, his ears were drawn forward so that he could capture what she was saying. An offer – of sorts – to look into the pack that Caiaphas had pledged herself to. As she explained the nature of her fellow members, Kierkegaard found himself both intrigued and appalled at the idea of treating males in such a way. Still, if they had made a name for themselves doing such, he did not suppose that it bothered him. Drawing his brows forward in a thoughtful manner, the ashen brute allowed for an elongated pause while he contemplated the appropriate way to decline her offer. Finally, fixing his stare on her once more, the Sairensu male frowned and tilted his head to the left. “I do not believe that my presence would be welcome in such a place, Caiaphas,” he reflected in a quiet and rumbling tone of voice. “However, I am not so foolish that I would think I could survive through a winter in these lands without a pack.” A heavy sigh followed these words, and Kierkegaard found himself clenching his jaw tightly. Admitting to such a setback was not something he particularly enjoyed. “I will either find a pack, or leave the wilds before the snows become too heavy,” he then added. “I do thank you for the offer, however.” More words than he had spoken in a very long time… to a stranger.