Wheeling Gull Isle let my imagination run away with you gladly

The little sheepdog had wondered at the quivering of Aditya’s flesh, and her expression had swiftly morphed from one of supplication to meticulous concern — but before she could poke and prod at him to triage his malaise, he’d spoken. Now the moment for interrogation and examination had passed them by, but her Neptune eyes were still intent and watchful lest the strange symptom make a second appearance. She nodded vehemently at his query, searching his face for any sign that he was offended she might like to keep his memory-fashioned moniker for her island, and added for emphasis, “Name Coaltea,” in a silky susurrus. When he moved toward the tree, Coelacanth held back, and a smile danced upon her muzzle and lit her sea sparkle eyes as he pressed a sooty paw against her shoulder. Obligingly, she leaned into it, turning her head to lick at the velveteen of his toes, and then she took a more playful tack: parting her jaws, she mouthed mischievously at his wrist. Her fangs were carefully sheathed, her slender muzzle as soft and pliant as a well-trained retriever’s, as she offered him a kittenish tick of a growl. She only hoped that her wildly wriggling tail and half-arched, smiling eyes would convey that she meant her threat in jest.