Wheeling Gull Isle runaway now and forevermore

Very rarely had Komodo been around for the formation of any pack — he often came when a pack had reached its apex, and left long before any sort of decline — but here, upon Wheeling Gull Isle, he had celebrated the establishment of Undersea not once, but twice. There was something to be said about this, for a man who rarely experienced the same thing more than once. He rather spurned anything that became too customary and too blasé; but Coelacanth, she could never be considered boring. Everything with her, as well as the other seawolves, seemed limitless and new. Even though the island had a clear perimeter [in the form of it’s many beaches and cliffs, where land starkly transformed into ocean], the possibilities were endless in terms of the many opportunities that lay around them. The coast played host to several other packs, many of whom Komodo was eager to forge relationships with. The land, now that is was spring, was bursting with newness that simply begged to be indexed and harnessed for his ceremonies. The mottled brute wondered if he ever might find Aria again and mused upon whatever newness her might find within her — now that Seelie was betrothed, and the lovely Corten twins had bid them adieu, and the tiny Fawn girl’s absence had been noticed, there were slim pickings and Komodo found his attention to be left wanting. 

The earthstalker had been tempted to leave with Brontide and Sirimiri and Serein, but he saw the potential in the island that they didn’t. The gods had sent him here for a reason, alongside the other stormborn wolves. He would not abandon his tribe again. 

Lifting his chin to the sky, Komodo let his honeyed baritone spill from his maw as if it were thick molasses, at first low and slow and then it climbed higher and deeper and held strong, signifying their triumph. A home, they had built. A home, that was theirs.