Ankyra Sound Dead doesn't mean gone

His lips pull back eagerly, even as he eyes the figure with submission from the corner of one moonlit eye. A tongue wets his lips and twice he pats the sand with his tail- a plea for peace.

He had no knowledge outside the good congregants of Sweetharbor- no preconceived ideas of how others may act or take to a greenhorn islander so clearly out of his depth in this part of the world.

No lessons could safeguard him now, it is the upon the instinct of a wolf he must rely. Another look is given to the shadow-

A girl.