Wheeling Gull Isle the voice of rage and ruin

Axolotl watches as she stiffens as he draws closer, her muscles tensing in preparation for either fight or flight but to the leviathan’s surprise (and relief!) she does neither. He is still when he sees her extend her muzzle and he remains still as she takes in his scent. He feels the slight pressure of her weight as she sags against him and he is stalwart enough that her weight — even though he bears only a small amount of it — is far from cumbersome. Axolotl’s ears taper and smooth against his skull as he contemplates if her leaning against him is because of her wound or not and if it causes her discomfort or otherwise makes her feel lightheaded. Thus far she has shown no inclination that she can speak and so he must assume that like Coelacanth that this pale woman is mute. “Perhaps we should head back to the others? There may be someone that can tend to that wound.” The leviathan suggests still unsure if she understands his words, but speaks them nevertheless. Surely, someone that washed up on the shores of the Isle knew something of healing and medicines; for though they were strangers he does not wish to see her (or anyone else for that matter) perish.