Wheeling Gull Isle Walk the Plank, Ye Scurvy Dog

The trembling of his body pained her — she felt the damp chill in her own bones, then, and tasted the buzzing unease of his trepidation on her lips. Miniature fireworks of saline spritzed unevenly from the erratic tap-flutter-tap of his quivering tail, and she wondered at the restless worry and anticipation that drummed through him. She was about to speak, slim jaws parting as her ingenuous lips shaped themselves around syllables that still didn’t feel familiar, when he bestowed upon her pert chin a quick, exuberant kiss. Every muscle in the sheepdog’s body tensed, but she did not recoil fully; she merely retreated a step to regard him with a certain indecisiveness.

The swipe of his tongue along the sleek curve of her muzzle was a first, of sorts — Moorhen was her lamb and she had come to expect a certain deference from the banded Cairn; and Olive had bent head and carriage to the Groenendael in apology rather than submission of a hierarchal nature. Never before had she been so plainly submitted to, and she didn’t think she liked it very much. That being said, the physical contact was pleasing — if a bit frustrating in a way she could not explain or understand — in her sensitized state and her feathered tail whipped like a windswept banner.

She wasn’t expecting the strange wolf to actually give her the stick, and when he did, knocking it toward her with an awkward shuffle of one forepaw, she rocketed skyward like a startled cat being accosted with a cucumber. She landed neatly, her movements vulpine, and although the caregiver in her registered his weariness all too keenly, she tried to initiate play. He was so tightly wound! Surely he’d feel better after a quick romp to stretch his legs — so she backed up from him with her hindquarters raised in a playful bow, and “barked” invitation before whirling away…

…almost directly into Komodo!

It was a bad time for her empathic nature to kick in, but schedules held no sway over the outpouring of hearts and she knew at once his restlessness and his present unhappiness. “Modo?” she breathed, her flanks heaving with the exhilaration of her sudden sprint. She climbed the rise and made to nose at his cheek, heedless of his rigid, standoffish posture. “What’s wrong?” she wondered, and hoped he would spare a private moment for her at a later point in time. Her Neptune eyes told a story, boring softly into his and then flicking toward the Labyrinth in the distance. “Night, alone?” she suggested to him shyly, wondering if he would acquiesce.

She awaited his response with bated breath — and once he gave it, she delicately but pointedly turned her attention toward her new friend with a steady, fond expression. “Name, tauhou?” she entreated him, her posture relaxed as she sat with her tail cupped against her hip. Invitingly, she patted the sand with her paw to invite the stranded mariner to take his ease, looking winsomely over her shoulder to draw the Earthstalker near so that he could make his own acquaintance.