Wheeling Gull Isle no resentment ever evened out a weaker hand

Once the Four had eaten their fill, Coelacanth placed them under Moorhen’s watchful eye. Stockholm was out tending the borders and would no doubt be back shortly, but Seelie couldn’t wait any longer to check on Titmouse. She regretted deeply that she could not spend more time with her whitewater-pale friend, but the newest generation of Cortens was her utmost priority.

Carrying a piece of sphagnum moss that had been soaked in one of the rills threading south of Skybowl, Coelacanth approached Titmouse’s den. Her hips gave a delighted wriggle and her bright cerulean eyes shimmered fondly when she caught sight of Reed, but she tended first to the task at hand — closing her jaws minutely over the fragile bundle, allowing some of the sweet rainfall to drizzle upon Titmouse’s dry, cracked lips to coax the lapping of his tongue. She was careful to avoid his nose, and she stepped back to give him room, offering a soft whuff of greeting to the red girl.