Wheeling Gull Isle that’s the loudest i become

Backdated to April 23, 2018. @Moorhen, maybe? ♥ This can be a Read Only if not.

Coelacanth’s oven is preheated and ready for pupcakes.

The atramentous sheepdog sank shakily into one of the many forest pools nestled in the Skybowl’s skirts, coiling below surface like a tiny crocodile. Tufted ears and the crown of her finely drawn skull remained above surface, button nose dipping underwater now and again to blow streams of quietly discontented bubbles between breaths. The fever she’d contracted shortly before reaching Morningside had intensified into an outright blaze — and the memory of Moorhen’s incensed words, rooted in love and worry though they were, struck painfully at her psyche. “I am sorry,” she wanted to say with confident fluency, “I had to go. I should have waited. I am sorry.”

Stockholm was gone. Stockholm was gone because Seelie had made him go, and Moorhen was worried because Stockholm was gone because Seelie had made him go. “Moorhen,” she wheedled desperately, knowing the banded girl must be near, wanting to apologize again for the wrongs she had committed. She rose from the water, catching sight of a family of plump river otters, and spent a moment watching their silly antics before putting all her efforts to find her lamb. One of the otters in particular met her cerulean gaze directly and seemed to be trying to communicate something — but Seelie couldn’t commune with her. “Moorhen?” she whispered, half hoping the girl could hear her and half convinced that she would never listen to her Shadow again.

“Prrromise,” she sounded out with painstaking care. “Stay on island, on sandbar — take you far.” She could make that promise, couldn’t she? She could be faithful to that — to stay on the island or, at the very least, the sandbar, and take Moorhen with her whenever she planned to visit the mainland. That seemed fair and reasonable — everything she hadn’t been. “Lamb, I am sorry.”