He was never far from what minimal possessions he dared keep close. A makeshift bag filled with useful objects and not much more, he carried it across his body under normal circumstances, but he was always quick to abandon it in some safe place, hidden in any nook or cranny deemed suitable. Four legs were better than two, and even in his feral form he reached just over seven feet tall when he stood upright. Compared to most wolves he was a giant on all levels, no matter the form he took on. Plus, he simply enjoyed the easy lope his canine form presented—gliding across the black sand in a nearly effortless gait beneath the slowly filling moon. He was a ghost—a shadow moving in the night without sound and leaving behind nothing more than a thin trail of oversized footprints. Only the soft sound of his breathing and the gentle rustle of his bag followed him, drown out by the ocean’s tide as it crept up the beach toward him.
He’d assumed he’d be spending another night alone, but lo’ and behold! He spotted another canine on the beach just as he was, traveling alone in the pale light. Slowing into a stand-still, the gray-furred canine silently regarded his midnight companion, taking in his subtle body language to search for any sort of acknowledgement of his presence. He quelled the desire to wave his tail, knowing the man might just be of the cruelest sort that didn’t appreciate any intrusion to his solitude. Kian himself desired company, but the other remained yet unknown. Seating himself into a regal pose on the sand, he merely watched the wolf’s approach.
“’Alo, Guv,” he attempted, rising his voice on the air and throwing on a friendly expression despite the darkness of the night. Contrary to his impressive size, and thus naturally intimidating appearance, Kian was as gentle as a puppy much of the time. And if bared fangs and snarls were tossed his way he’d simply turn right around and walk away, retreating the way he’d come along the sand without another wasted word.
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