Wheeling Gull Isle Walk the Plank, Ye Scurvy Dog

His veins buzzed with an unholy mix of anticipation and anxiety. She certainly felt and tasted as corporeal as anyone he could remember, though, however unconventional her looks. But he cringed down a little further as his impulsive lick earned him a look from its target; whoops.
 
Although…she didn’t seem to feel the need to speak of it, and she didn’t retreat far. In fact, she wagged her tail quite widely, just before leaping straight up into the air, the most impressive physical feat Driftwood could ever recall seeing in any canine anywhere. His own ears shot up in surprise, echoing the motion, and then a grin flitted uncertainly across his face as she bowed in obvious invitation. He lifted up onto his toes with a happy little bounce of his own while his bedraggled brown tail beat the air more vigorously, vigorously enough that it couldn’t be hidden between his legs any longer. His grin grew stronger as the lady pirouetted with a little woof of challenge—and then that grin drained away like rainwater on a slope, as playtime was abruptly halted by the appearance of a stolid statue of a wolf right behind the first one. Driftwood, like Coelacanth, had been too distracted and keyed-up to properly take notice. Now that he spotted the other male however, his face tautened once more, his sandy brow starting to furrow as his golden eyes dimmed, their corners crinkling with tension.
 
The female was puffing slightly from her acrobatic exertions but did not seem too worried about the intruder. But as he folded worriedly back in upon himself and his tail drooped earthward, Driftwood suspected they knew one another, what with the hulking stern-faced male’s scent seeming very vaguely familiar to him, and the inquisitive black nose the female immediately thrust into the face of the newcomer. That suspected familiarity was quite quickly confirmed, as a moment after naming the intruding stranger the female breathed a heady suggestion to the male: ”Night, alone?” Driftwood stared quivering down at his own damp dusty feet. The words were obviously not meant for him, and he didn’t mean to pry, or to offer any other action that might rouse the ire of the intimidating figure who had happened upon their meeting. It wasn’t his place, and while the female had seemed pretty forgiving of Drift’s trespasses he was not at all certain the second and far more looming figure would be similarly permissive. Driftwood did venture one foot forward briefly, but then, hesitating, replaced it whence it had come. He took a quick peek at the face of the other male and stayed still as he could possibly be. His tail did however tremulously start to flutter again from where it was half-tucked between his stiff hocks, not quite able to shake the budding enthusiasm and hopefulness of a moment before: perhaps once he had taken stock of the situation, and seen Driftwood’s harmlessness, he too might like to play? The low and rumbling mutter from the other male had Driftwood flattening himself more thoroughly to the sand, however, and kept him pinned where he was, though it didn’t stop Drift from sneaking an appealing glance toward the dark female, and then to the near-forgotten stick. Surely his gift would earn him at least a little of a reprieve…?! Or maybe the male wanted it, and that was why he looked so dour. Driftwood debated about creeping over there to see if the glowering black-backed statue wanted the stick instead since by her reaction the female seemed to be thinking of changing her mind.
 
But his nervous attention was diverted again as the female spoke directly to him. … ‘Tau… hou’…? Was that a nickname, or an insult, or…what? He cocked his head a little in bafflement as he tasted the unfamiliar word. He was uncertain how he was expected to react to it, although the lovely svelte black creature seemed kind and friendly enough as she said it. His tail thumped unevenly and uncertainly, audible again as he took in the girl’s friendly invitation and easy manner with both of the boys, and then he remembered to focus on the part of the question he actually had understood. My name’s not Tauhou. Everyone calls me Driftwood. Right? Right. He emphasized this with a tiny but decisive nod as he proudly straightened himself just a little. Then he crouched back down again, alertly readying himself to play—and only then remembered to insert the usual follow-up question. Who’re you? he asked, eyes darting from the female to the male and back again.