Wheeling Gull Isle the lonely sea and the sky

Tension. It sings along every nerve as the tiny Groenendael regards the green-eyed girl, whose gentle, smiling face and amicably waving tail draw her in. Coelacanth hesitates, turning to glance suspiciously over her injured left shoulder, her left foreleg lifting automatically to relieve some of the pressure on the bruised, inflamed flesh. Her bright, intelligent eyes peer intently through the pitter-patter of the rain for a long, pregnant moment before she turns back around — and even then, she does not look at the wolf but behind her. Her graceful neck angles slightly as she searches the shadows intently for a sign of the two younger girls, and when she doesn’t see them she relaxes — but only marginally.

Seelie draws a deep breath, her concave sides pulling taut against the scalloped gradient of her ribs, and releases it on a whuffling sigh. She is improved, somewhat, from their first meeting — her sharp little fangs stay tucked beneath her velveteen flews and there is recognition and understanding in her Neptune gaze — but she is far from rehabilitated. A particularly fat raindrop manages to land with a plop! on the tufted tip of her ear, and the moisture that drips down into the canal causes her to flick her ear and shake her head — a small gesture that turns into a full body shake. Moisture springs from her in a fine mist, and the movement causes her flighty muscles to loosen. The green-eyed girl is not a threat — Seelie knows this much, even if she doesn’t know much else — and she relaxes enough to turn her muzzle to the sky and let the rain drum upon the thin contours of her face. It slicks away the salt, dribbling from the quill-like tips of her feathered fur in milky rivulets.