Wheeling Gull Isle maybe when the coast is clear

He had been accustoming himself to his new digs bit by bit, and although he had smelled many wolves about there were few he had met directly. It was exciting, the thrill of the conquering explorer as he came upon each new sight and smell—although no matter what he might pretend conquering was probably more than a little, well, uppity than the real truth. But today came the most exciting encounter yet, though it was accompanied by a sizeable dose of apprehension: today he heard himself called for. It sent shivers down his spine but he climbed out from his unimpressively shallow hollow in the cupping roots of a large tree the moment he heard it. He caught his lip on his tooth and stood there for just a moment, trying to puzzle out whose voice it was he'd heard, anyhow, and if it was someone he'd be expected to recognize or not. But the only guarantee, really, was that if he didn't listen to it he'd be bound to get into trouble. With a deep breath he set out at a distance-eating trot, wending uneasily around the trees and keeping his nose and ears on high alert as he scanned the woodsy vistas before him. His first clue was the intermingled scents both new and old that came wafting strongly to his nares; the second was his spotting their sources in a loose knot on the beach, as he emerged from the woods and paused. His eyes roved over the gathered crowd and tried to pinpoint who had called him, and for what.

Driftwood had thought he'd responded pretty promptly, but it seemed like others had beaten him to the punch regardless. His tail lifted a little and then drooped again in uncertainty, his flickering ears likewise telegraphing anxiety— but all that was swept away as his eyes fixated upon a willowy black figure. His paw popped up off the ground, but it took him just a moment to call her name to mind again. Then, Seelie! he yipped in delight, and went galumphing across the sand toward her, tail all awaggle and eyes eagerly lit up. Really, she had the most amazing scent, the most bewitching grace— Driftwood was completely clueless as to the identity of all these others for the moment, but somewhere deep inside him he felt an unshakeable conviction that if Seelie had brought them, it would be all right; that good old head honcho, that most wondrous and kind and talented of creatures would surely keep him from any harm. In his eyes, Seelie could do no, wrong, and if Coelacanth had chosen to gather these others here too then by golly they were all right in his book as well.

It was only as he burst up upon Seelie at a velocity likely to cause a small collision, eagerly reaching his nose for hers, that it crossed his mind that maybe not all of these people had been deliberately brought here. Maybe, just maybe, Seelie had meant to call him for help! The startlement on Driftwood's face as this thought flitted by was plain to see, and then he took a big step back and, cocking his head back at a more watchful angle, looked out across the crowd with a furrow in his brow and a small, frowny droop to his previously wide-smiling face. This was a pretty big group of strangers to him, after all. And maybe to Seelie, too...? He glanced at her sidewise, uncertain. But Seelie had promised him he could ask questions, hadn't she? Who're all these guys? he wanted to know, a little plaintively. Please, head honcho, give me a clue as to how I should greet all of them. Driftwood wasn't opposed to giving each of them nearly as enthusiastic a welcome as Seelie herself, but he was glad he'd thought to check in with his amazing-beyond-words superior here, first.

Komodo's scent blended in with the others', at the moment, and was not one his memory had recently refreshed itself with, though his frown and furrows deepend just a little in puzzlement and apprehension both as his eyes drifted across the bulky male. This one, in particular, made him nervous and had his hackles raising just a few hairs higher in alarm, though Driftwood wasn't certain exactly why. Do I know you? he muttered, although mostly under his breath and to himself. Cursed brain; what a time for it to choose to fail him. This was important, and Driftwood wanted to make sure that Seelie knew he could be counted on when he was called for, in particular. Driftwood straightened up with a little more proud authority at the thought, and ogled Komodo with continued confused forgetfulness, but with a tinge of watchful obedience: if my leader so commands I will interfere with your suspicious intentions, you nervousness-inducing dog wolf you.