Wheeling Gull Isle i'm the moon

“Lainie, most best — better — fish,” the inkdark Groenendael quipped clumsily, her feathered tail whipping so wildly its motion started to resemble a slightly off-balance seaplane propeller instead of a normal to-and-fro swish-swoosh. Her inability to phrase things as fluently as the other wolves present made her shy, but not insurmountably so, and she mirrored the young wolf’s bow before ghosting nearer. A fond look was cast Stockholm’s way as the rotund Aralez retraced her steps and butted her head against the underside of her mate’s chin like an overzealous cat. “Coelacanth, Seelie,” she breathed to Lainie, inching forward. If the girl did not demur, the sheepdog would rub her cheek against the taller wolf’s before drawing away. “Welcome Undersea, Tauhou,” she offered cheerfully, leaving it up to the boys to explain the ranking system.

A spasm of pain crossed the little wolfdog’s delicate features and she swung her muzzle abruptly toward her comically convex flank. The puppies, it seemed, were eager to meet their mother’s newest friend, too! “Guppies say hello,” she whuffed humorously, but the tightness of her mouth betrayed her discomfort. A few seconds passed as she broke into a soft pant, and with a stretch and a shake, she seemed to recover neatly. “Be Lainie, all enough,” she reassured the female. She really didn’t need to do anything specific to impress Undersea’s leaders in order to stay; she just needed to want to stick around and forge relationships with the other seawolves.