disquiet

Step one in adoptive parenting: do not call your child 'it.'

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It was not long before Kierkegaard felt the short bristly fur of the youth against his hind leg. He cast his gaze in Signe’s direction for only a second before the sound of breaking earth seemed to uproot him, and his attention was quickly turned back towards the direction of Caiaphas’ grotto. She had come upon the two wolves much faster than the ashen brute had anticipated. He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her sharp gaze, no matter how scrutinizing it may have been. The Sairensu male was no fool. He could sense her apprehension. After all, why would he come to her – shadow at his side – again, after requesting her help once already? Was he infringing on his rights?
Drawing his salmon-colored tongue across his muzzle, the golden-eyed male frowned thoughtfully and lowered his head. He thought, for a fraction of a second, that the waif would turn him away. She was the only wolf within the Teekon Wilds that Kierkegaard had come to trust, though, and so she was his only hope. Fixing his gaze on her, the disheveled male drew his ears forward and attempted to accumulate his thoughts into words. Somehow, he always sounded a little foolish in these efforts.
“Caiaphas,” he rumbled quietly, then motioned with his muzzle towards the inky child at his hind leg, “I found it near the river.” He spoke as though it were an achievement to have picked the small figure up and taken her with him. Furrowing his brows, Kierkegaard realized that he should have picked his words more carefully. This did not tell the dark-furred sea-wolf why he had come beckoning to her borders. A heavy breath fell from his inky lips and loosened his stiff shoulders. “Show Caiaphas your paw,” he then growled to the child with a frown, lifting his leg to scoot her forward. “I don’t know how to mend it,” he then remarked to the yellow-eyed coywolf. Then, something of a helpless expression fell across his ashen features.