Ankyra Sound [m] dirty laundry

The language of the sea was an enigma to the raggedy wolf. Like an indecipherable wartime code, held high over his head like the great sequoias towering above, waiting to be cracked and subsequently solved. One great big puzzle to decrypt. The language in itself was beautiful, but the syllables all ran together, giving it the likeness of some sort of seaside gibberish. Making it near impossible to isolate and decode. The bastard's brilliant mind was sufficiently racked as he stared vacantly at Spyridon. But the inky wolf looked just as confused as Reek felt. Communication breakdown.

Luckily, Spyridon would be a great charades partner. His body language made the situation perfectly clear when he pointed left with his muzzle, motioning the bastard to take position. Reek nodded to Spyridon as he silently took the left flank. Pantaleimon had already set up in the brush all stealth like. Game on. The bastard's eyes stayed glued to the dark wolf, waiting patiently for the next move.