Wheeling Gull Isle Walk the Plank, Ye Scurvy Dog

last post!

Seelie recovered from his social martyrdom with a type of saccharine elegance that only she could look good in. She swept in and stole the show away from his grumpiness, and for now he was glad for it, because he was feeling that quite disagreeable and knew this young wolf, so in need of healing, needed a home. But, despite her cosseting, he did not loosen his stance or the constriction of his frame and the grit of his jaw. Komodo stood there, hard as ever, as the sheepdog bade them both adieu and left. 

Komodo watched her gamine form as it shuffled away. Later, he would seek her out — somehow things between them were quite unsettled, and he hadn’t realized it until that very moment.

The earthstalker turned his attention back to the shivering thing upon the sands, looking up at him and asking his permission to call this island his home. Driftwood had not been born upon it, as Komodo and Coelacanth had, but he had every right to be here all the same. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he gruffed, turning over his shoulder to move inland and guide the pup home. “Lemme show yuh ‘round…” he continued, figuring this was somehow now his responsibility now that the Aralez had left them. He couldn’t just leave the boy here, alone.