There'll be peace when you are done

This was a night of daring proportions. Killian had remained tucked away in the northern lands, where it was cold and his paw could be kept numb. He had befriended some, made acquaintance with others, and spent a significant part of his time alone. His injured limb had been blissfully without feeling for weeks and it had been a pleasure beyond words. But now, he craved adventure, and so he moved eastward. The lands he ventured into were slightly less frigid, yet still cold enough to keep most of the pain at bay.



His paws carried him swiftly and quietly over the terrain. He had mastered the art of stealth in addition to his keen sense of direction, which had only added to his skill as a tracker and a hunter. While only an average sized wolf, and one with a permanent injury at that, he still had the ability to be formidable in almost any situation. He was often mistaken for a weakling though, and that he proved unfortunate for many an opponent since the incident that had forced him out of his pack.



Voices carried over the air as he approached and he slowed to a stop as they filled his ears and drew him out of his thoughts. He halted several yards from the pair, observing them carefully from his standing place. In the night, his dark fur made him almost invisible, save for his piercing garnet eyes. The wolves had not noticed him as he had approached, but he would ensure that they did once he was satisfied. Killian was an intelligent male, and it took very little observation to see that both of these wolves were skilled in the art of acting. They were clearly not showing their true selves to any extent, but he wasn't certain to what extent they were covering up. He himself had developed a bit of a skill for acting, but wasn't one to often put it to use. He had to restrain himself from laughing as he listened to their exchange. It was quite ridiculous, really.



He approached them slowly, coming up behind the male. His deep, powerful voice filled the air with his question. And what, pray, is a pirate exactly? Of course he knew. He had heard the term used frequently, though he assumed when it was directed toward him that it was in an entirely different fashion than with this other male. It had been a term of endearment for him, when he had been home. Pirates were what they had nicknamed the skilled trackers, and they were fearless, loyal companions who had a quick tongue to use whenever necessary to avoid an unfortunate situation. Killian had always been told as a pup that he was destined to be one of the best they ever had. Oh, how that opinion had gone sour.