Porcupine Ridge ghosts

your patience is astounding. <3 sorry for the wait on this, my friend!

<style>.gaunt1 .ooc {font-style:italic; color:#494a43; } .gaunt1 p {padding: 0px 9px; margin:0px; text-indent:25px; } .gaunt1 b {color:#f8f8f8; letter-spacing:-.1px; } .gaunt1 {background-color:#000000; background-image:url('http://i.imgur.com/gExQrZb.png'); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; } .gaunt1 .float {float:right; width:0px; height:10px; } .gaunt1 .text {font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#4c4c4c; letter-spacing:.1px; word-spacing:.1px; line-height:18px; width:580px; text-align:justify; padding: 20px 20px 330px 20px; } .gaunt1-border {width:620px; margin:0 auto; }</style>

Words were lost on the savage creature. A silver-tongued fool was still nothing more than a fool to the ghostly male, even with words of jest made in poor humor to a ragged beast. Kierkegaard watched with flashing golden eyes as the white-furred stranger took it upon himself to take a seat, all the while spouting nonsensical sentences – structured only to pass through the ashen brute’s lengthy ears. It did nothing to enrage him further. There was only red in his vision.
Once the white-furred male had taken his seat, Kierkegaard found his footing and darted forward, jaws snapping in the direction of the male’s muzzle. His golden eyes were wild with a wickedness that could not have been compared to many other creatures. He was not simply a beast of the wild. He was a turbulent fitting of taut muscles and vicious instinct. He was nothing more than savage.