the great unknown

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The dark female did not answer him, and though she was young, Kierkegaard found himself growing immediately frustrated by this. A huff fell from his lips and he flattened his long ears to his skull. In the grand scheme of things, Kierkegaard was a creature of few words. If the dark female had a very small vocabulary, he was certain that she would not grow drastically there. Already, he could see himself slipping away from the world that he had crafted. He had not felt the fear yet, but slowly it was rising in his gut. If the dark-furred youth did not have a name, that meant that he would be forced to call her something. Walking slowly so that she could walk beside him, the ashen-furred brute scowled at the landscape ahead of him. They would not be well-off in the cold, and certainly not near the river where she had already fallen in. He would not be fond of cleaning her pelt if she were to do it again.
Moving in the direction of the forest that was near to the shore, the ghostly male cast his gaze back towards the girl, making sure she was not falling behind. His mind whirled, forcing him to think on the future and what could potentially happen to the two of them. The girl had the scent of a pack on her pelt, but he did not care much for pack wolves. She had been abandoned to the wild by them, and so she no longer belonged to their creed. The inky youngster was his now, and almost suddenly the ash-furred male found himself incredibly territorial over her.
“Your name will be Signe,” he rumbled to her in a stern voice. “Do you understand? Signe,” he repeated to her, stopping in their walk so that she could sense the gravity of the situation. The meaning behind it was simple, like the creature that he toted along with him. Signe meant new victory.