Wheeling Gull Isle how to call on old gods

Axolotl watches as the flame goddess shoots him a glance over her svelte shoulder as her name slips from betwixt his lips and he worries for a second that he has unintentionally upset her but though she does not speak her body language conveys that she is happy to see him and his own body reacts in kind. The slight stiffen of muscles as he expects retribution smooth as he relaxes a second later. It is minute and barely noticeable lest one of the two women was paying close attention to him. Axolotl’s expression softens as he approaches the women, noting upon Coelacanth’s apologetic body language. She hardly seems the feral gremlin (typed with the utmost love!) that she had been the night Atlan had spit her from Their depths. The inkblot is not fully herself but she is more herself than she was that fateful night and it is enough to cause guilt ti writhe within the leviathan’s chest. He will not apologize for any commands he has issued then or forthwith because they cannot have her running amok a feral pup might and someone has to speak to her in a way that her (new) feral side would understand. Axolotl feels that softness and hushed words would only cause her to further see them as prey. Perhaps he is wrong but savagery is something he understands.

“Maera, this is Coelacanth Corten,” The leviathan seeks to make the introductions when his steps cease. “Coelacanth, this is Maera Sveijarn.” He then turns to Maera figuring he might explain what she will, no doubt, quickly figure out for herself. “Coelacanth cannot speak.” He informs Maera, glacial gaze shifting from the inkblot to the flame. He has not forgotten his purpose nor intent of inquiring as to if they will assist him in marking out borders but for now he places those thoughts back in favor of seeing the two women properly acquainted with one another.