Wheeling Gull Isle i must go down to the seas again

@Komodo and @Axolotl first, but welcome to all Undersea members ♥

This post got away from me; I’m sorry! [rambles for days]

The sheepdog had become something of a wraith, flitting on tenterhooks from shadow to shadow, ever on the outskirts of the small settlement. The natural gloss had been stripped from her atramentous fur, leaving it a dull soot-black that drew into oily spikes at the juncture between her left shoulder and nape. It gave her the impression of always having her hackles up — always being on edge — and in her feralized state, that wasn’t far from the truth.

The retreating clouds had given way to a frail glimmer of sunlight, pink and citrine limning their fragmented edges as the sun tried to break through, and despite Axolotl and Komodo’s repeated warnings to stay close and stay together, Coelacanth returned to the water’s edge. It wasn’t as angry, but there was still an unspoken threat in the roil of water. She dipped a paw in, feeling the magnetic pull of the current, and felt at once a rhythmic tug that caused her emaciated frame to wobble, the crenellated bridge of her spine curving at the insistence of a particularly vicious riptide. “Careful, little sea sprite,” her father’s voice came to her in an overwhelming rush. “Any deeper and you’ll be swept away.” He’d said as much the first time she and Amoxtli had met the ocean, and she’d turned an untroubled eye upon him. “Of course I’d find you,” he’d reassured her as she’d known he would. “You’re mine.”

Tufted ears drooped sadly in time with her hips as she curled herself forlornly into a seated position. The glimpse of her reflection in the foam-dappled sheen the sea left on the sand shamed her. It was like being trapped in a cell while your jailor watched television — you could fight, beat yourself against the bars, but you couldn’t change the channel. In Coelacanth’s case, she couldn’t even beg. She could see what she had become, and the sea had taught her that she had to make peace with it, but she couldn’t predict when she’d finally be in full control of her own body once more. Sometimes it felt like forgetting. When the creature born of her panic and trauma took hold of her, it blotted her memories with disappearing ink — everything was indiscernible and incomprehensible — and then there were days like today.

Today, as she watched the sea lions lolling on the sand, waiting for the sun to come out, she felt like Coelacanth. She knew that Axolotl and Ixchel had loved her once and might love her again despite what she had become. She knew that Komodo loved her still.

Somewhere deep inside her, the searing, terrible yearning for what she had lost began to cool. Amoxtli was alive — she knew this! — and perhaps someday he would join her here. Doe, Marbas, and Kierkegaard were gone — but they had never been hers to lose, not really.

Of the three, Doe had been closest to her — mother and sister, inamorata and mentor — and losing her hurt the most; but the odd-eared mystic had belonged wholly to herself, even after she’d laid claim to Szymon Cairn. Though Julep had profaned the very title that had once brought her mother’s Shadow immeasurable joy — “Go away!” — the name was Doe’s.

Marbas had been something different entirely; his Siren had built him up in her mind, had embellished him to make him more attentive, more forgiving, more affectionate. Physically, she’d imagined him exactly as he was — she had always found him strikingly handsome — but she had entertained fantasies of fixing him, teaching him the joy she knew and healing the wounds of his heart as well as his body. She’d imagined their reunion many times, and with ingenuous self-indulgence, and although she hadn’t meant to end up here, living on the jewel of Marbas’ desire brought those fantastical images back in full force.

Kierkegaard had triggered some of the same feelings — but she had always known that he was owned by his melancholy. There was something in the serpentine wolf Nathimmel couldn’t hope to touch, and although she would have willingly filled his days, his arms were too full of regrets to keep her close. She had loved him — but always from a distance.

Spindly forelegs drew up against Coelacanth’s chest as she leaned her weight back on her frail haunches; she pillowed her cheek and buried her muzzle against her linked hocks and felt beneath her chin the wings of her collarbones, and she breathed in the memory of their combined scents like a bride drinking for the last time the ambrosia of her bouquet.

She forgave the children for their harsh rejection; she forgave the wolves of the wood for their ugly brutality; and she forgave Lotte Ansbjørn for her ruthlessness. Then, with wild abandon, she leapt into a grand jeté — her back arched like a wide smile as she kicked up sand and, in a song no one would ever hear, wished them well and bade them farewell.

♥!

Axolotl had taken it upon himself to do rounds — similar to patrolling but without borders to actually patrol — he takes to the protection of the wolves that Atlan has spit upon the Isle’s shores seriously. He uses the rounds to search for any new wolves that may have washed up or wandered innocently to the Isle and to hunt for crabs and fish that he takes and leaves at a communal “drop off” for any whom are hungry but lack the energy or health to hunt for themselves. Seafood is not every one’s favorite but for now it is the best he can do (aside from the occasional seagull) — or anyone else for that matter — can do. The tide still poses too much of a threat for anyone to think of swimming or crossing the sandbar. Atlan’s wrath is calming but not to any extent where they are no longer in danger of drowning if they attempt it. Besides, without the sandbar it will prove hard to haul any sort of herd animal across the straight of sea that lay between the Isle and the mainland.

A familiar inkblot takes form and the leviathan’s steps slow to a cease as he watches her propel herself up into the air, as graceful and elegant as a dancer. He is hard pressed to believe that Coelacanth is back to her old self no matter how much he wants to. She has become something feral in the time since he has seen her last and though he hardly can believe she would pose a threat he knows he cannot ignore her massive shift in behavior. “Coelacanth,” The leviathan calls to her across the distance he keeps between them, glacial gaze watching her reaction to him studiously.

lil cameo ♥

 During the  'alone time' Maera had decided to give herself, the Sveijarn focused strictly on getting to know the area, not yet the wolves for she thought  she'd feel more comfortable being introduced by Axolotl seeing it had been for him she was even there. She paced around, her hazel eyes observant and her steps careful. Suddently, as she scurried, she is stopped when a familiar voice reaches her.
Its him, but its not her who he is calling for so the Sveijarn is torn between continuing or making her presence known.

Maera watches timidly as Axolotl greets the same small, frail-looking female she came across earlier.
Then, as if someone else had called her name with pressing urgency, she bolted off leaving the wolves to their conversation.

Timing can be a funny thing. In so many instances, it didn’t make sense and appeared to be random. But other instances, it was difficult to believe timing wasn’t intentional — but, by who’s intent? It was true; no other hand had as much control over divine timing as did the Gods. The hurricane was a godlike power; such voltage could certainly not be mortal. It was a power that did not die, but simply transformed into another state and moved on — and it left many souls behind; born of its wake. The fact that he happened to know several of those souls was clearly an act of god. 

He could not understand why the omnipresent beings wished for them to reunite and remain here, of all places. Though the Cortens were fond of the coast and its waters, but such a trait failed to rub off on the earthstalker — and the reasoning for it was lost upon him! But Komodo was a god-fearing wolf and, since their initial stranding, had made several sacrifices in order to glimpse at their reasoning and request —nay, beg — for an escape route.

So every day Komodo ventured to the beach to see if the land bridge had resurfaced, or if the currents had quieted enough to entertaining swimmers, but neither ever did. So the shaman would simply gaze at the waters, made uncomfortable by the definite edges of land.  On the mainland, borders were simply terms universally agreed upon by all of wolfkind… but here, the border was tangible and distinctly real. 

and this time, he was not alone.

He chuckle danced on his lips as Coelacanth burst into a joyous dance. Axolotl, a stoic man, was with her. Komodo padded towards the group, very interested in sharing their company. As the man approached, he called out to the two. “Yer gonna break one a’those skinny legs a’yers,” he chuffed, ears perked forward and shoulder slackened good naturedly. As the man drew nearer, he slowed, not trying to startle the oft-feral girl or overstep Axolotl. He did not see the flash of red; the new girl upon the island.

”Can’t believe i’m layin’ eyes on you two,” he drawled honestly. His gaze moved to hold the Atlanian’s own. ”Ixchel’s here, y’know?”

“Coelacanth.”

The leviathan’s low, sonorous timbre pulled Seelie back to earth with startling alacrity; it had the effect of a colossally oversized anchor being thrown from the bow of a speedy little sailboat. As though her wings had been clipped, she cut her second grand jeté short, dropping neatly to the sand in a controlled fall. Her recollection of their reunion was spotty at best, but she remembered that she had done something to warrant a stern, clipped tone from Axolotl — and for a creature as sensitive as Coelacanth, that could be as painful as a physical reprimand. She made herself low, whining apologies, her ink-feathered form etched in low sloping lines of shame and hangdog submission. When she approached Axolotl, she felt as though part of her was walking backward through time — and by the time she’d met him halfway, leaving ample room for him to depart if he wished, she was six months old again and wondering,

Just who is this solemn-faced boy?

She had met Axolotl only briefly before he and his littermate Cipactli had followed their older sister Ixchel in support of Taern, but the three of them had made a strong impression on Crosscurrent’s motherless twins. Now Coelacanth sought to right whatever wrong she had unwittingly committed toward the Atlanian. When he was still a few feet away, she lay sphinxlike and symmetrical on her belly in the sand, placing her chin flat on the ground between her carefully placed forelimbs. She looked up at the wolf she had once known and whined beseechingly, Neptune eyes fixed upon his face — and she only altered her gaze to glance meaningfully out at the water. If anybody could assure Axolotl of her intentions, surely Atlan could; and although the water was not safe for wading now, perhaps the leviathan could still find some way to commune with Them and read what she could not say.

Komodo’s jovial greeting drew Coelacanth’s attention, and she turned to look coquettishly over her shoulder at the Earthstalker with mournful eyes and a feeble flicker of her feathered tail. She was happy to see him, but she was worried — if she had been cruel to Axolotl, enough to warrant his ire, perhaps she had also been cruel to Komodo. As the two males began to speak to one another, exchanging greetings albeit a little stiffly as befitted their twinned dominant natures, Coelacanth quietly slipped away.