Wheeling Gull Isle have you come here to play jesus

“No,” `Io said, and Coelacanth, ever-sensitive to that word in particular, pricked her ears sharply and intently searched the black-masked wolf’s mismatched gaze. Had she said something wrong? Comprehension dawned within her Neptune eyes a moment later as the winter raven elaborated, and the glaze of panic faded, replaced at once with a sorrowful sort of compassion. It was quite distressing to learn that `Io’s guppy — Konnie — was not, in fact, the only child from her litter. Seelie didn’t like that the siblings had been separated, and her sympathies were heightened by how fiercely she missed Amoxtli. “Brrring,” she urged the other female gently, utterly unaware of the complications that made her suggestion nigh impossible. She believed erroneously that `Io was a single mother, and that the coupling-scent she’d detected the first time they’d met had been engendered by the puppies’ father. In an attempt to soothe and reassure, “Brrring, all safe,” she breathed. The sea was a bountiful provider, and the island was rife with warmblooded prey.