the great unknown

Lol he's so confused about this whole thing... like; children? how? why are children a thing? :|
Also, minor powerplay... just PM me if you'd like me to change it?

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The blood that ran through the male’s veins was cold. He did not know what fatherly love was, or how to tend to the bodies of children. He felt as though he had been born into the life of a vagrant adult, fit to wander and then disappear. Still, his parents had – in fact – tended to him when he had been young and unable to do it himself. Kierkegaard knew the scent of his mother though she had not been around long, and he knew the sharp eyes of his father… eyes that had been passed down to him. It would have made sense for the ashen-furred brute to have hated his parents, but his lifestyle allowed him to simply appreciate them. They had played their part in making sure he grew with the skills to tend to himself, and they had provided him with the means to craft his own future.
The youngster listened to him with a sharp accuracy, and Kierkegaard watched her with a molten stare as she scrambled to her paws and darted towards him. Though she was not close enough to press herself to him, the ghost could still feel the chill that echoed from her pelt. Craning his head down towards her, he blinked slowly at the paw that was presented before him. Not only was she drenched in frigid liquid, but she had managed to cripple herself either before or during the mishap that had tossed her down the river. Kierkegaard frowned at the dark-furred pup and breathed a sigh through his nostrils. He had not been able to tend to his own injury, and so he did not know how he could help her with hers. There was someone that he knew would be able to assist him… someone he had grown fond of in his time in the Teekon Wilds.
Turning slightly, the ghostly male brought his head towards the young girl and paused, looking at her with some trepidation. He was not suited for this. He could not tend to children and help them through their needs. However, his parents had not been suitable caretakers and he had turned out well enough. He was solitary and cold, but he could survive, and so that was all he had to do for the inky wolf he had found. If he could help her to survive, that would be the greatest gift of all.
“You will come with me,” he instructed her in a rumbling baritone, nodding his head towards her once. “We’ll get you warm and I will feed you.” Knowing well enough that the longer she was wet, the worse for wear she would be, Kierkegaard drew his head forward and began to clean the water from her skull and face with a slow wash of his tongue. He was careful not to touch the area where her paw was injured, and in a short matter of time, he had done well enough to get her cleaned off. “Do you know your name?” the male then inquired with an uncertain glance towards her small face. Then, towards the paw that she had presented him with. “Let’s go… hold that one up,” he told her with a frown, nudging the foot with his dark nose.