Wheeling Gull Isle the voice of rage and ruin

Axolotl watches her tail move and suspects that, perhaps, he has agitated her. The Atlanian knows better than to force his company upon those whom do not want it and if he an annoyance to her then he will yield and return to the others. She had helped on the beach, though, and he had assumed that she wanted to be apart of …whatever the group of unfortunate souls stranded together upon this Isle were. He considers now that perhaps he has misjudged. She does not answer, does not actually give signs that she understands the words he speaks. He is not harsh with her, is not unrelenting in the push of his companionship and the leviathan of the seas is left feeling …perplexed.

She turns and his glacial gaze goes to the gash upon her head. It is impossible to miss: a startling and bright wound against the pale of her fur. “You are injured,” There is still plenty of distance between them so he can in no way assess it properly but it causes a worried frown to tug at the edges of his lips nevertheless. He takes a small step, ghosting forth and then stops, hesitating. He is no medicinal shaman and he cannot offer her assistance beyond examination but he does not think she would allow it. Do they even have a healer among them? Axolotl does not know and he frowns. “You should have it tended by a healer.” He speaks softly, gesturing with his muzzle to her head unsure if she is even aware it is there. In the chaos of the storm it was easy to miss it: she was walking, helping and he, at the time, paid her little mind beyond gratitude that she had, for some reason or another, decided to assist them.