Ankyra Sound A tale of wickedness... and worse!

He battled with pressing himself to the sand or standing defiantly taller. Kevlyn opted for neither, eventually; to lower himself would make his fur dirty, and that was the last thing Kev wanted. He was alone in a foreign place with foreign wolves and no sign of his parents. The only thing he could really control was the state of his body, so for that reason and perhaps a genetic one as well, the boy chose to stay clean.

Greyjoy softly asked him his mother's name, which forced Kevlyn to think for a moment. Julooke might have given her name to her children, but it was hidden in his memories now, inaccessible. "Ma Os'raga," he supplied, shifting uncomfortably as if he knew just how unhelpful he was being. That was all he'd ever known her as, though. Even the name of his late father was a mystery; his surname was all he knew them by.

"Kev," he mumbled in response to the second question. His eyes were wide as they climbed slowly up Greyjoy's strong chest to his chin. "Grrrreyshoy? Take me home?"