The Heartwood i had seen the submarine.

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The further his words went, the more intrigued she became by him. His gaze followed her as she moved from her perch beside the tree until she had shuffled a short distance away from it, and closer to the looming wraith. Kierkegaard remained where he stood, his eyes following her with a placid expression. He did not intend to spark an interest in her, and certainly not towards him. The male had simply been stating his knowledge of her so-called ‘heartbeat of the earth.’ It had only succeeded in making the monster of a wolf more disconcerted than he had been before. Still, she seemed adamant about teaching him her ways. He had to admire the spirit with which she spoke of her weeds and trees. Kierkegaard did not believe that he could ever find himself so passionate about such a bland subject. When she spoke, though, there was a flash in her fiery gaze.
Attention span fading, there was something that she said that caused the male to draw a single ear back and squint at her. It was not a hostile expression that he offered, but a thoughtful one. “Does the heart actually beat?” he asked her in a hushed growl. It was poised almost as though he would not believe her either way if she told him, and still she had him captivated with her strange words and bizarre behavior.