this old dark machine

Border of Stavanger Bay- Onyx

Darkness seemed to sweep across the land much faster than it had in the past few months. Kierkegaard had been anticipating that night would fall, but he had not expected it to have happened so soon. There was a chill in the air, more so around the areas with water. His leg injury was beginning to heal, though still caused him grief when it came to hunting. His means of getting prey had been fishing in the rivers, but they were getting too cold to endure. This caused the ashen brute to be quite gruff around others. He was hungry, frustrated, and constantly perturbed by the presence of others in the area. There were a select few who had not harried him to the point of anger. Then again, he had not seen them since their first encounter either. As was life… The brute trudged forward, his back leg causing him to limp slightly, and his form was getting thinner than it had been in months. This gave him a rangy, uncultivated, tameless appearance. The fur along his neck and spine stood at odd ends. His ribs were beginning to show through on the sides of his body. His shoulders stuck tall on his back. It did not help that Kierkegaard hung his head considerably low. His bright orange eyes swept his path and he scowled at the scent of a nearby pack. As it had turned out, he was dangerously close to their borders. Pausing, the ashen loner lifted his head upwards and huffed through his nostrils, squinting at the surroundings with a ghastly frown.