Wheeling Gull Isle wrap yourself in blankets and give the ocean an inch.

salt and water lay all around, and the collie froze with fear. the waters pushed against her narrow chest, swelling past her in great churning waves that threatened to dislodge her from her precarious perch atop the sandbar. the isle was not far; merely a hundred taillengths before her, though her slow approach had allowed the sea to grow more dangerous with the coming of a spring storm. the sheepdog's terror had reached its peak.

her paws failed to gain any traction as the water swelled again, surely in preparation for some great wave that would threaten to dislodge her entirely. it was then she snapped, for surely the terror of what may come should she lose her way outweighed whatever she felt in that moment. and so she moved, limbs thrashing against the wet, and the wave drew near.

this time, the water rose to quickly, and the world was made a roaring, blurred mess. salt in her eyes, water drawn into her maw as result of an ill-timed breath, the sudden realization that she knew not which way was up. and then she breached, and again was struggling, the isle seeming no closer with every desperate kick.

The whirlwind of estrus had soothed.

Toward her season’s end, Coelacanth had become reclusive and withdrawn, clinging fiercely to @Moorhen and @Stockholm but avoiding the pack’s males with obsessive singlemindedness. The Groenendael and the Gampr’s trysts had taken place largely off island at her behest, but for the past several days she’d remained on Wheeling Gull Isle. She just generally avoided being found.

Shaking out her feathery fur, she combed the buttersoft stretch of beach to the southwest and was accosted by the sound of desperate splashing and sputtering. She scanned the water with a practiced eye, and when a flash of seal brown broke surface in tandem with one snowy, sodden paw, she sprang into a sprint and launched herself headlong into the sea. Quick as a thought and heedless of her own safety, she paddled toward the small, two-toned creature with strong, steady strokes and dove like a foraging duck. Slim muzzle parted to try to grasp a mouthful of the creature’s scruff as Coelacanth tried desperately to keep herself from sinking beneath the surface.

Stockholm wasn’t following his mate. Nope. Definitely not following her and keeping an eye on her. That would be weird. She was a grown-ass adult who could take care of herself, and he trusted her, and didn’t want to smother her but… okay, so Stockholm was following her. But only because there was this prickling worry that kept burrowing it’s way into his thoughts. Somewhere along the way – he isn’t sure when exactly – something had happened between Coelacanth and one of the other wolves on the island. She had not presented with any physical injuries, but there was clearly something amiss none the less. And though they could communicate quite well, even without words, she had not made an attempt to articulate what exactly had transpired to him. And he did not feel it was his place to push her to explain.

So yeah, he’s kind of stalking her.

Which turns out to be a good thing.

The Armenian had taken up post amid a rocky section of shore a little further back, playing casual and lounging in the sun, letting the warmth radiate through his pale cream-toned fur and letting his eyes follow Seelie’s delicate silhouette as she wandered the shore. So focused on the Groenendael was he that he completely missed Poppy’s plight until Seelie suddenly took off at a sprint and dove into the water. He was on his feet in an instant, bewildered and concerned at her behavior, until he saw brief flash of color in the water and was struck with the realization of what she was doing – going after someone who was being pulled under.

He sprung into action with the same suddenness that Seelie had, sprinting down the shore at full speed and crashing into the water without hesitation. The Gampr is not as adept a swimmer as the Aralez, but he makes his way out to the pair none the less, if Seelie can pull the stranger to the surface he will be there to as a buoy that she can grab onto to stay afloat.

there is another beside her, quite suddenly, an inky shadow that slides through the waves as if belonging. she does not notice this in her frantic throes, of course, and yet when the inky being pulls at her from atop the waves, her fight is renewed. she is selfish in her desperation, and for a moment it seems as though she might pull the shadow down with her as she struggles to find safety as close to her savior as possible.

then comes the greater mass, and she breaks away from the shadow as rationality makes a surprise appearance in her desperate mind. she grabs at him, finding his scruff in some instinct inspired by her sudden need to remain alive, and kicks weakly at the surf, feeling at once as if she is falling from some high place, spinning all the while.

Coelacanth has the good sense to steal heavy gulps of air and hold onto them tight when the smaller female begins to struggle and kick. She becomes aware of the Border Collie’s pregnancy almost immediately, drawn under by the gravid female’s greater weight; it becomes impossible to find their combined center of buoyancy as both of their bodies shift, kick, and wriggle desperately in the water. It is with one hearty yank that she manages to keep them both afloat, practically rearing back so that her spine is perpendicular to the glassy expanse of seawater, but her slim jaws pry open with a muted, involuntary cry of pain. Her shoulder — or neck, or back; it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what hurts — seizes up and spasms as Poppy latches onto her mate’s scruff.

Hey! That’s mine!

The sheepdog’s instinctive possessiveness surrenders to her altruism after a beat, just as her pain surrenders to her adrenaline — and as the Gampr begins moving toward the shore, the Groenendael helps buoy the struggling female with a gentle, steady press of the bridge of her muzzle against one convex flank. Her breath whistles harshly through her nose as she alternates between dipping below surface and coming up for air; the salt of the sea burns, but now she knows why the sea brought her this particular scrap of flotsam: like Hemlock, this female needs sheltering. It never occurs to Coelacanth that her puppies’ future may be jeopardized by her “come one, come all” mentality — just as it never occurred to her that her “love everyone with everything you have” mentality might one day jeopardize her friendships. She simply isn’t wired that way.

The stranger latches on to his scruff, and the Gampr immediately heads towards shore, confident in his mate’s ability to navigate through the water – though he does steal a fleeting glance in her direction about halfway there, just to make sure she is alright. Otherwise his focus remains on keeping his head above water.

And though Stockholm has no fear of the water nor does he harbor any traumatic feelings about the ocean despite his own near-drowning experience when he first washed up on the island he is still always very much relieved when he first feels his paws hit solid ground. He pushes forward up on to the shore, hoping the Border Collie hangs on to him long enough so that he can pull her onto the beach and out of reach of the tide just in case she is unable to find her footing.

Do you want to post once more and tack on a conclusion? Thalia gave me permission to do so but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to use this for your trade. [snuggles]

The Border Collie clung like a limpet to the Gampr’s back, her exhaustion pushed aside for one last ditch bid for survival. The Groenendael followed behind at a limping pace, swimming toward shore with powerful kicks of her hind legs but frail, fluttering sweeps of her feathered forelimbs. When the trio finally clambered ashore, Coelacanth wobbled, then crumpled — but she managed to catch herself before doing a faceplant in the sand. Moorhen, never far away from her Shadow, was swift to arrive at Seelie’s side, and the gentle empath bid the girl to fetch meat and berries from further inland for the very obviously pregnant dog. Stumbling a few feet away, the sheepdog regurgitated seawater — and she knew it was imperative that Poppy do the same. Taking immense care not to put pressure on her abdomen, she helped the collie expel the salt water from her lungs with a well-placed thump to her rib cage. Cocking her head to place her ear against the younger canid’s chest, she heard the same concerning gurgle Aditya had been plagued with.

With Stockholm’s help, Seelie gently maneuvered the female to lie sternally. When Moorhen returned, they would have to move Poppy further inland, but the little dog was utterly exhausted and Seelie wanted to give her — and the puppies within her womb — some time to recover, first.

Moorhen returns, and after they coax the collie to nibble at some of the berries, Seelie’s lamb helps to maneuver Poppy so she is lying across his shoulders, supported by the sheepdog on one side and the striped female on the other. Together the three of them get Poppy to a place of safety and reconvene with Komodo. The two healers work over the Border Collie with meticulous care as the Gampr keeps a silent vigil through the night with Moorhen at his side.