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

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Toward her season’s end, Coelacanth had become reclusive and withdrawn, clinging fiercely to @Moorhen and @Stockholm but avoiding the pack’s males with obsessive singlemindedness.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.