Ankyra Sound the horseman

@Arrille

Kierkegaard pulled his frame from out of the grotto and stretched his tired limbs. The fur along his neck and shoulders was tugged by the breeze before it stood rigidly where it always had – like quills that danced along his back. The ash-coated brute peered out with squinted eyes at the rolling of the waves against the shoreline. He had intended to take to the borders and mark their boundaries for any passersby, but he thought that he ought to fish. Since his arrival back to the sound, Kierkegaard had developed a peculiar sort of anxiety near the waters and had imagined being sucked underneath them and swept away. He knew that he had to overcome, and so he padded to the edges of the water and allowed it to wash up to his foreleg. The cry of gulls overhead sang as a warning to him; do not enter or you may never reemerge.

As Arrille was coming to the Grotto, he spotted the older figure of the old male wolf. At least he thought him old. Very much old. And Arrille was in the sourest of moods, as he had been since returning after meeting his father. He redirected himself toward where the other was, near the water's edge but he sat some distance away, his eyes sticking to them. He still recalled what had been said about his father. How he should have just let go. He resented them for such words.

The water brought life back to him for a moment. Kierkegaard did not feel as though sleep still clung to his eyelids. The ash-furred brute waded out until the water beat against his chest before he turned his head upward to glare at the hovering gull. It cawed again, causing his fur to prickle along his back and shoulders. He flattened his ears and barked at the bird, watching as it caught the wind and floated away to linger elsewhere. As he did this, Kierkegaard caught a familiar figure in the corner of his sight. The ghost turned his skull toward the young boy and tossed his head upward in an informal greeting of sorts.

“You get your answers, boy?” he barked back to the youthful wolf. There was a hint of a smirk on his dark lips and his molten gaze danced with just enough teasing mirth. He had recalled the fire that burned inside of the younger fellow; their last conversation had been a passionate one, but Kierkegaard was far more interested to know if Arrille had found anything worth while.

Arrille gazed up at the birds as well. Their gulling was the only thing he had yet to get past with living here. Then his gaze shifted back to the older male to find himself being looked upon. His lips twitched. "Don't...call me boy." He was hating being called boy. Made him feel small again. The only ones who could call him boy was those closest to him. 

Then he turned away, scowling over the horizon. "I got some...but not enough." He would never have enough. And he still believed Caiaphas owed him a lot more than she had given, especially after the meeting with his father. He had been promised much things. Answers. A new home. But all he wanted was his father and mother...a father and mother. He would get neither.

Kierkegaard was amused at the initial response. It appeared that the young lad was still as temperamental as he had been before. He snapped at the ragged grey man with a quick tongue and a sharp snap of his flashing blue eyes. Of course, the ghost was not intimidated by such a display from someone so young. With a chuckle, he began to wade back to the shoreline, where he shook the sea water free from his pelt and fixed a curious stare on the pale-furred youth. “You are a boy,” he rumbled in a gruff tone. It was a simple statement and one that could not be refuted unless Arrille wanted to put himself in a tight spot. Kierkegaard was not quick with his witticism, but he was not afraid to hold some means of sharp conversation with the ornery young man.

The blue-eyed wolf answered the inquiry with a disappointed sort of response. The older brute eyed his younger companion with a scowl and a quirked brow. “You're never going to get enough,” he grunted as a reminder to Arrille that life was not perfect and it would rarely ever present him with all that he needed to feel safe and at home. “Shit happens and the world doesn't owe you a damn thing to make it right again.”

The older males remark caused Arrille to grit his teeth, and a slight curl of the upper lip. How he so desperately wanted to run at him, like he had with that female for calling him a boy. To teach a lesson. He hadn't even realized that he was now standing instead of sitting, so focused on moving at the male. But then he thought to how he didn't care. He wanted to wipe the look of his face, that scowl. 

"I will get enough...I'll show you, and everyone else." He thought he was owed plenty. For the loss of his family, he thought he was owed another. The abandonment he commited on Drageda, he was owed answers and a safe home. And what was not given, he took it out on the world.

So quick to fire, Kierkegaard could never remember being so hotheaded in his own youth. There was something about the sudden ire that flashed across the young man's face that brought a sick joy in the older wolf. He knew better than to encourage such behavior, but he wanted to know just how long the temper would last on young Arrille. Of course, as soon as he had made the remark, the younger boy was quick to retort. He swept aside each of Kierkegaard's warnings before fixing him with a passionate stare and rising to his feet. The ghost wanted to know if he would make a move. More than this, the ashen brute flicked his tongue across his muzzle and canted his head to the right in a curious gesture. “And what are you going to do if you don't?” he asked. “What will you do when the world tells you to fuck off?”

Arrille's gaze darkened, centered on the older wolf, and him alone. Keeping him ahead. He felt a snarl coming on, then out it came. To answer his question, he began moving forward at a stalking pace. "I'll tell it to fuck off right back." And with that, he let out a growl as he made a charge at the older brute, gnashing his teeth furiously as he came at him. His anger had snapped right out of their containment, and all he saw was red now. Pure hot red anger.

The rage erupted from the young wolf like soda from a shaken can. He charged at Kierkegaard with snapping teeth and bristling fur. The older wolf had endured many a fight. He had sold his body to strangers to be used in countless wars. The ghost was not unfamiliar with hotheaded reactions. So, with a returned snarl, Kierke rose back onto his hind legs and aimed with his front paws to land against the youth’s shoulders and stuff him into the sand. His fiery gaze sprung to life for only a moment in the unfolding of Arrille’s emotions. The mercenary could not help but pity him for all that would surely fall on his back. And he would be expected to carry it or crumble beneath the weight.

Arrille did not see what came next. He saw the wolf rise up, and saw a window of opportunity to go for the belly. Or the neck. But as he went for for it, he did not take notice of the paws. The other was heavier than him, and once the paws fell onto his shoulders, he held himself there till his own legs slipped out from underneath him. "Get off me! Get off!" He snarled up at the other, trying to get a grip but couldn't lift his head high enough.

The lure had worked well. Arrille dove for the soft underbelly of the ashen brute. As he moved, Kierkegaard connected his limbs with the young wolf’s shoulders and pressed him down. Of course, he was met with resistance and a few angered remarks to get off. The ghost only looked down at the younger male and frowned deeply. His eyes watched as the muscles in the light-eyed wolf’s back were writhing and fighting against his hold.

”You just simmer down and I’ll let you back up,” he grumbled with a sigh. He was too old to endure the tantrums of the young, but Arrille was so filled with rage that it became difficult not to tread so close to the heat.

Arrille continued to struggle, and even started cussing at the other wolf. And he rarely ever cussed. He didn't like being in such a position. And he did not like acting submissive either. But, after much struggle, he stilled, tiring himself out. He breathed heavily, and one could tell by how he breathed, he was still filled with rage. He just didn't the the energy to expel it anymore.

The younger wolf began to spew hateful words toward Kierkegaard. The cussing did not go unnoticed, but the ashen brute did not seem to care very much at all. He assumed that he would deal with this one the way that he had with Signe all those years ago when she would grow tired and cry; he would let the youth wear themselves out and then release them. When at last, the thrashing had fallen to a heavy-breath still, the ghost peered down at the younger male and nodded his head a bit before removing his weight from Arrille's shoulders and taking two steps back to provide his own body with room enough that he could react, should the pale fellow try something again.

“You need to learn to control that temper, boy. It'll be the death of you some day,” the older wolf croaked with a frown. He had known the terrible flaws of feeding the fire within. If he approached everyone with the same demeanor, someone would take great offense to the brash words and rage-filled actions. In the end, Kierkegaard supposed that it didn't matter either way.

Arrille looked up at the older wolf as they lifted off, then backed away two paces. He watched with spiteful eyes, snorting at them. "When others stop calling me boy, I'll calm down then. Until then..." To get his point across he snapped in their direction, but he was too tired to actually make another charge. "After what you said...about my father? You deserve this. Why don't you fight back, huh?"

The young wolf continued to spat his words at Kierkegaard who held an expression of complete apathy through the duration of it. A single ear on top of his head swiveled to the side, and he suppressed a yawn. “I meant what I said about your father, but I didn't think it meant I would deserve to be pestered by his nitwit of a child,” Kierkegaard growled quietly to the younger wolf. He did not understand why Caiaphas wanted to keep this boy around. Some part of her had seen something in him that he did not comprehend, but knew that he would have to endure. So long as she wanted Arrille around, he would be there – whether Kierkegaard liked it or not.

Why don't you fight back?

“Because I know the difference between what is worth fighting for, and what should be forgotten. Something you ought to learn sooner rather than later,” he answered in a stern tone. He lifted his head up a ways and frowned at the younger boy. He seemed to be far too hotheaded for Kierkegaard to fully break through to him. He wondered if he should turn and leave the youthful wolf like he did the first time he had happened upon him. The ghost was tired, though, and he would have preferred if Arrille left over having to depart himself.

Arrille growled lowly back at the older wolf. "I am no nitwit." He had no idea what a nitwit was, but it sounded like an insult. As he waited, he tried to stand himself up and he managed, standing across from the other. He tried to take a step forward, but he was still quite tired to even try and biting. 

He received an answer as to why he did not fight back. "Worth fighting for? Everything...is worth fighting for." Arrille stared him down. "What...what do you think worth fighting for?"

“Oh, yes you are.”

Kierkegaard confirmed with an exasperated nod of his skull. He had never been more sure in his life that he had been thrust into the ring with someone quite as vexing as Arrille. Not wanting to argue the point someone as young as the pale boy, he decided he would no longer try to drive the point home. Instead, his ears swiveled forward to meet the next few words that fell from the other male's lips. Once he heard, he understood.

Arrille believed that everything was worth fighting for. Kierkegaard could not understand believing in every little thing so passionately that he would throw himself at a far more experienced wolf without so much as a diplomatic input. It made more sense why Arrille behaved the way that he did; he did not understand that some battles were better left alone. “Your body, your right to breathe, and those you've vowed to protect are the only things that you should fight so fiercely for. Everything else is a waste of your energy,” the mercenary growled. Nothing else would ever matter, and if Arrille realized that, he might have the chance to live as long as the grizzled old wolf had.

He glared down at the other. He was not a nitwit, and he would not be called that. "Call me that again...I dare you." 

"And I have vowed to protect my family. And I will. My father was my family..." Then he gulped after he had said that. He didn't want to admit it. Not at all. "I...you were right" he finally ended up saying. And his face turned to one of sadness. "He ran, okay?! He ran out on me...but you still didn't have to say that about him, what you said before. I have all this pent up aggression, and..." And the only way he could expel it...was through physical action against others.

Once again, the ghost was met with fire and rage that spilled from the young wolf's mouth like lava and spittle. He dared Kierkegaard to speak ill of him again, but the mercenary was not keen on the back and forth, so he eyed the pale wolf with disinterest until something shifted dramatically between the two of them. It seemed that all of Arrille was falling into a different persona, and it took Kierkegaard by such surprise, that he did not manage to catch the first few bits of his words in the process. His mind raced in an attempt to wrap around what he had heard, but when Arrille had finished, he did not truly know what he was supposed to say. Not even a hint of pride had touched his gut, though it should have.

“Fathers who leave aren't worth your time,” he said with a swift bob of his skull. “You take all that aggression and you turn yourself into something unstoppable. Don't waste it on the small shit; use it for what matters.” The ragged man looked at the younger wolf and realized that somehow, he had managed to speak heartfelt truth, and in spite of his dislike for the hotheaded youth, Arrille had procured some practical advice from the old man. It struck him as something remarkable, but he would not voice this to his present company.

The advice struck him as...well, good advice. Turn himself into something unstoppable...yes. He would become unstoppable. Like a wave. A powerful wave against those that threatened him. And finally, all that aggression would have a use. He was surprised at himself for what came next. "I...thanks, I guess...for the good advice." Before, he hated this man just because he had been right about his father. Now, he was thanking him.

Their conversation had taken a more solemn tone. Kierkegaard was highly surprised by this, but he welcomed the change of pace. He did not like to be around the fiery Arrille, but he was interested to know more about this new leaf. Something that he said must have struck a chord with the younger wolf, and though he could not have determined exactly what it was that had... he was pleased that something had changed. Arrille offered words of thanks to the ashen brute and Kierkegaard nodded his head a bit stiffly toward the blue-eyed fellow. “Erm... yeah. You stick around and I'll teach you a thing or two,” he remarked to the boy with a ghost of a smile on his dark lips.

There was quite a change of demeanor, it still surprised Arrille. And the remark pleased him. Learning more, perhaps to harness his aggression. Make him a better fighter...yes. Yes, this pleased him greatly. "You will?" He smiled lightly at this, almost like a wicked smile. He would become one of the greatest fighters...as strong as his pride and his arrogance.

“Yeah... I will, so long as you quit acting like a damn idiot. I'll show you what you need,” he said in a rumbling tone. Then, he cast his molten gaze in the boy's direction and cast him a rugged smirk that crinkled his features. After a moment or two, the brute realized that they had never gotten each other's names; all he had known about the boy was that he had been brought in by Caiaphas and had expected answers from her. He furrowed his brow and frowned thoughtfully. “What's your name, son?” Kierkegaard inquired genuinely; if he was to train this youthful and hate-filled wolf, he would need to know who he was speaking to.

Arrille scowled again when called an idiot. Then he too realized they never had shared each other's names either. After a moment's hesitation, he answered to the older wolf. "Arrille. What's yours?" He also knew that he had never asked how this wolf knew Caiaphas, it was obvious that he did. But that could be for a later time to ask about.

Arrille was a suitable name; as suitable as any calling could be for such a young thing. Kierkegaard had played the second party in producing several litters of offspring on his own, but he had never had the chance to name his own children and he wasn't sure what he would do if that opportunity arose. Still, he knew that there might come a time when it would and he found himself flustered at the thought. The boy Arrille had inquired what his own name was, so the wraith faced him with a small nod and offered his own introduction. “Kierkegaard,” he said quietly. The ghost never offered his last name to those who asked, and so many did not know of his family or his lineage. He was afraid he would happen upon others who shared his name, so he held it to himself and only offered what they needed to know – sometimes he would not even offer that.