this old dark machine

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The injury sustained to the back of his leg had turned him from a surly creature to a complete brute of an animal. He had wanted nothing to do with the wolves of the Teekon area. He actively sought solitude of any kind, and whenever he happened across another one of his kind, the pallid male would quickly seek a means of escape. It was the same with Onyx. He had no interest in remaining to talk with her. His hock was throbbing with the pain of the bite marks that had been scored there, and his patience was running thin. When she offered to leave him, the pale loner lifted his head with sharp golden eyes and frowned. “No. I’ll go,” he growled to her curtly and without so much as another word, Kierkegaard turned away from the sight of her dark pelt and disappeared with a scowl and a heavy limp.