Ankyra Sound people don't understand the word ruthless

there was a bitter cold sinking its teeth into the forest, settling atop the monoliths like an oppressive tyrant in which none could escape. for the most part, the bosk was quiet -- cold had a strange way of silencing all things with its austerity, including life.

caiaphas had been cursing her decision to come out and patrol along the fringes when she heard the call - guessing it was better she was already out than deep within the grotto, she made for the distant source at an unhurried pace -- not because she was used to the luxury of others waiting upon her, but rather because the cold had made the snowpack icy, and she was in no position to be reaggravating old wounds by slipping and falling.

at length she came across a gnarled looking wolf a respectful distance away - at first glance she was reminded of mahler -- the strange male that had not occupied her thoughts since his slinking departure from grimnismal. but this man was not mahler, though she argued he might be cut of a similar hardened cloth. apprising him with a careful gaze, the siren was silent -- but her expression clearly conveyed the unspoken question that lingered between them -- what do you want?