Wheeling Gull Isle not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice

Gradually, the Aralez regained her strength and stamina, though the fires from Elsewhere continued to burn and send fine flecks of ash and choking tendrils of smoke across the sea. When Priixu’s summoning howl struck the air, Coelacanth paused to invite @Sixgill, @Grayling, Koi, and @Thresher along. Whichever puppies chose to remain in the Labyrinth would be guarded by their doting father. She splashed through a curtain of falling water whose flow was gentle enough that her babies would not be washed away, and led a small procession to the Strand.

Moorhen was already there, a fact that the sheepdog gleaned from scent, sound, and silhouette before she broke free of the treeline, and was greeted with immediate affection but no surprise. The smaller canid butted her tapered muzzle against the girl’s sturdy hip and regarded the stranger at first delightedly: “Ax — !” and then with utter confusion: “ — oh?” His name was exceptionally difficult for her dumb tongue, but fortunately, this wolf wasn’t him. The awkward silence that followed her blunder was therefore acceptable, and she followed it up with a more demure, “Peace be.”

She motioned toward herself. “Coelacanth,” she breathed. “Corten.”