Wheeling Gull Isle bermuda, bahama; come on, pretty mama
Private  June 17, 2017, 06:00 PM
Lone Wolves

@Tael ♥ This post got away from me.

I will open this to other Undersea members eventually~

                It was easier for the atramentous sheepdog to lose herself when evening fell, and tonight was no different. She tiptoed to the water’s edge with her nose aquiver, her movements timorous and cagey as though the gently lapping waves held within their depths a beast of nightmares. Suddenly distracted, she tilted her head to glance suspiciously at the night sky, her Neptune eyes tracing the edge of the moon’s grin. It filled her with relief to be able to look at the sky unobstructed, her catlike paws executing a slow, prolonged series of pirouettes like a music box ballerina, without the sinister canopy of a fang-infested ceiling.

        The relief fled, however, when she glanced toward the dreaded mainland.

        The sodden tangle of white fur Coelacanth espied was unmistakably wolfish, and she barreled across the sand to meet it, slowing only when she could clearly discern the faint, irregular rise and fall of its flanks. When no threat was offered and the shape didn’t move, she crept forward on tenterhooks, the feathers of her sharply sloping breast attracting grains of sand that glinted silver in the moonlight. If she had met the wolf before, she did not recognize him — but, oh, she had been mad; mad! Her panicked flight to the coast left her with fragments of memories that she recalled in fits and starts as frenetic as her steps.

        A low, toneless whine fell like a sigh from her lips. She whuffed softly, tufted ears pricking alertly, but he did not respond. The pale quality of his fur reminded Coelacanth of her grandmother, and it was this absurdity that gave her the courage to minister to him as Kirynnae had ministered to so many others. Setting her tapered muzzle against his throat, she felt the beat of his pulse, even and steady despite whatever he’d undergone. His flesh was cold, though, and if he wasn’t careful his blood pressure could drop from the hypothermia alone. Instinctively, Seelie fitted her tiny body like a blur of ink along his spine, anxiously licking at the crown of his head where it met the unusually long fur of his neck.

        He belonged to her now, and she would let no wolf take him away. A nervous little growl ticked in her throat, frail as a kitten’s first purr, as she obsessively watched her surroundings.