Wheeling Gull Isle I wanna live a life from a new perspective

Coelacanth edged nearer, but kept a safe enough distance that she would not crowd the slate-furred female.  Her name was offered in a frail, barely audible whisper: “Seelie,” she answered.  She remembered Faeryn, but her ink-feathered tail wavered with desperate eagerness to please anyway as her cerulean eyes focused in on the fish.  She wasn’t necessarily hungry but the sheepdog didn’t often turn down food.  Worming forward on her belly like a living shadow creeping across the sand come evening, she stretched out a paw toward it with a trembling forelimb.  The wolves of the darkenwood had placed within her heart a suspicion that wasn’t so easily shed; she couldn’t help wondering if, when she reached out for the fish, Faeryn would snatch it back.