Wheeling Gull Isle the protectorate of seelholm

Moorhen followed dolefully after her shepherd, blinking around at the shimmering blue waters and sparkling cavern walls. The smell of salt and damp stone soothed something fierce and ragged that had been clawing at her heart.

This was not a nightmare. It was the sort of dream she didn't want to wake from. She was safe here, and the Shadow would protect her, and the air was warm and clean - she felt almost like a girl again, safe against the teat of some unknown shewolf. Her mother? The Shadow? Doe herself? It didn't matter. Moorhen had an inkling that this was what the womb must have felt like, back when she'd been nothing but flesh, seawater, and stardust.

Dreamily, she leaned down to lap at the water. She didn't drink, but savored the taste of it. Limescale and seawater were present, of course, but it was fresher than the water from the shores. Cleansing, almost.

"Are we dead?" she asked, turning to the shepherd with a bemused expression on her narrow face.