Porcupine Ridge threshold

She found it sad, in a way, that Kierkegaard stayed his course. It was an admirable thing to be a loner, and she was not sad that he was the way he was. It was not a sadness for him, nor of him, that stirred her -- but simply a sadness that all lone wolves knew of and could not flee from. The hardships that consumed them -- the simple mistakes that often cost them their lives. These were the things all lone wolves struggled with; it was the cost of staying feral and isolated from the calamitous ringing of the inner world.

He politely deferred her half-composed invitation, as she suspected he would. During his silence she watched him unobtrusively, suspecting he was likely composing a manner in which to decline her without insult. But his response was a response she had anticipated and it showed in the brief and breezy smile that played and passed across her lips in understanding. ""I have not yet endured a winter here. But it would do you well to find a pack for shelter if you stay."

She lowered her muzzle and for a moment sought the brilliance of his own gaze -- but the impart was passing. "To my knowledge Ouroboros Spine may be your best fit -- but if you do not align yourself by snowfall you may find me on the strand. For a short while, I can share my cache with you. But you must not stay long." She knew however, if it came to that, Kierkegaard would likely not overstay his welcome -- he was too well molded for life in the hinterland. She knew moreover that it was not the wilderness that defined wolves like the two of them, but rather, the feral wilderness in them defined the entire world. In a way she envied him; how she missed the lack of accountability for anything but herself.