Wheeling Gull Isle no resentment ever evened out a weaker hand

The sheepdog’s tail fanned eagerly behind her; she closed her eyes as he nosed at her cheeks, her lids, her lips — and she laughed, a ripple without melody, as his tongue flickered against her face. “Me, too, Mou,” she assured him gently. “I hear.”

To Reed, “All body talk,” Seelie intimated softly. “You, too; you hear.” She nodded toward Titmouse’s prone frame. “Too warm, too cold, shake, all talking.” Hemlock had already taught her daughter so much, and even if Reed saw things currently from a strictly clinical perspective, her knowledge and intellectual brilliance shone through in her ministrations. Compassion and empathy were things Coelacanth thought she needed to do her job well, but when she reflected on it and looked at herself, well…she had loved Doe with all of herself, and she had still lost her to death.

Maybe Reed’s style would always be different, but that didn’t make it less valid.

“Good — um. Good…” The word she wanted was “team” but it eluded her for now. “Good us, Hemlock, Reed, Maegi, me. Strong together. Care Mou.”