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This thread takes place on DECEMBER 31, 2018 and is MANDATORY for those tagged. You only need to post once, though you can post more if you feel inspired. If you cannot post, please message me on Discord or PM me. Those who do not post will be considered lost in the storm. Happy new year, Undersea. Sorry for the lateness!

@Stockholm [+ Sixgill] @Komodo @Faeryn @Driftwood @Reed @Titmouse @Lucas @Currituck @Thresher

“Ohhh…nnnooo…” the Mother Tree groaned, more loudly this time, and still the small, furred things did not strike out for safer harbors. The winds had picked up steadily throughout the day, and it was a wonder that small Thresher had been safely delivered across the sandbar. Now there was no hope of passage, for the island’s drawbridge was ensconced within a sinister roil of dark water — and the Athelas paced the Southern Strand with a fretful expression on her gentle face. She had been so wholly consumed with Thresher’s homecoming that she hadn’t left the isle to relay the good news to Moorhen. By now, all the other search parties had returned home — but few could command the banded Cairn, and she was in a fever for which the only prescription was more cowbell triumph.

The stormwinds peeled back their lips, then; and with a fierce howl, they lunged, loosing an icefang-ridden gust at the tiny, forlorn figure. Seelie was knocked back, but she pinned her tufted ears to her skull nonetheless and persisted, crouching, her bright eyes squinted painfully against the whipping sands. She inched her way to the water’s edge and dipped in a paw. The current was erratic and uncannily strong — not even she was brave enough to challenge it.

The howling rose to a screaming roar, and within it, she heard her husband’s voice: “Seelie! Come!” She turned her head to see the Overseer, peered back across the drowned bridge with an unspoken protest churning in her throat, and prayerfully wished Moorhen her best: “Peace be, good girl. Home safe.” Then she returned to her seawolves and began to count the heads that were sheltered beneath the boughs of the great blue spruce and her brethren.

posted by coelacanth.
Moorhen was asleep, far across the sandbar and settled deep against the breast of Horizon Ridge. And settled against her breast was a boy whose name she could not pronounce or remember with any consistency. Still, she held @Radcliffe close, tucked underneath her warm, wide neck like a precious gold scarf.

She was not home yet, but they were close.
Feel free to reply if you wish, Cody, but it's not necessary. Just wanted to chime in!
He didn't much like the looks of the skies, and he liked it even less as the air between him and that gray expanse started whipping itself into an increasingly tumultuous frenzy. Driftwood had been trying to make another round of the island, always keeping eyes and nose peeled for friends and strangers alike, but wayward youngsters and hellbent intruders in particular these days—but the growing storm snarled its warnings into his face and increasingly did its best to hamper his steps at every turn. Traversing the normally peaceful and flat beach began to feel like a marathon up a treacherous mountainside as Driftwood leaned into the wind and dug his claws deep into the ground and squinted to and fro as the howling winds snatched his breath away and started tears leaking from his eyes.

He turned to more closely parallel the treeline, but he wasn't ready to seek shelter—not quite yet. He stared at the spot where the welcoming sandbridge usually sprawled, but it seemed to be a roiling mass of water whose dramatic foamy crests left him doubting there'd be anything left even after the wind let the seawater slumber peacefully in its usual bed once more. Was this vicious storm thinking of swallowing up not only the landbridge but also the island entire? It seemed quite possible to him right at this moment. He was almost to the nice thicket of trees with the particularly impressive blue spruce at its heart, where he thought—hoped?—his packmates had already gathered, but even so Driftwood stood there grimly enduring for a few heartbeats longer. Because nearer to the ocean he could see the murky silhouette of Coelacanth, a position that had his heart clawing its way up into his throat. He'd thoughtlessly left her behind before, as he saw it, and almost lost her to Aditya's tender mercies—he was determined such a tragedy never again repeat itself, though what he could do against a bigger and badder maraudig wolf anyhow remained an open question, and what he might do to fight the wind and water themselves was even more dubious yet. He didn't have to go to battle and find out, though, as it transpired; the booming voice of the Overseer cut through the roar of the wind and turned Seelie dutifully back.

Driftwood tried to not leave her too far behind as he scampered to the thick and welcoming branches of the spruce. He gave his fur a quick shake for what precious little good it did before he burrowed into the welcoming shelter in the shadow of the tree, much less cautious than usual of how the stubby tree needles might stab and grab at him or of what limbs and paws of others might be in his way as he ducked and shoved his way into the stately tree's embrace and then buried the cold tip of his muzzle in his paws. Only then did he glance about to try and see who else had made it in here with him (and whose form he might have squooshed and trampled in the process of entering, himself...whoops).
The signs that the storm had been on its way had shown up long ago. The winter season brought with it a rash of ill tempered winds, the very same ones which had tosed the waves over the landbridge while Thresher had been on it and had knocked her out, stranding her on the mainland for some time. She had since returned, welcomed so warmly by her family and friends, but still wondered about how very large the mainland was; how far did it really go? She'd seen no end to it, though she'd half expected it to be an island, just like Wheeling Gull Isle. She yearned to see more of it- but not at this time of year. Definitely not at this time of year. 

She, not unlike the others, sought the shelter of the great blue spruce, knowing that it would hold fast when others fell around it. Its majesty made her feel awe-struck every time she saw it, knowing it- no, feeling that it too was a living thing. It had to have a spirit, just like she did- and just as whales did too. Seeing Driftwood there, she pressed herself against him in a quiet greeting before she moved toward her mother, concern in her dark brown eyes. She could sense that there was pain in her mother's heart, that there was fear she felt when she thought of those who were over on the mainland. Guilt lingered about Thresher still- knowing that others had gone across looking for her. Still, like her mother, she silently wished that they would be well- that they too would shelter the storm, and return home as she had.
Wolves had departed and wolves had returned; Komodo had a difficult time noting these things, though he suspected it was part of his job. Komodo was beginning to learn what it meant to be truly hurt at the hands of a woman and, though his depressive reaction had been delayed somewhat, he was now fully experiencing such a thing. His raven had fled and had not returned, and Komodo honestly believed that she did not want to be found. His feral woman did not do things that she did not want to do — and neither did the earthstalker. So, he tried to learn to let her go and forget about all the silent promises of love and pups and forever they had whispered to each other in the night.

His fervent praying had not tempered the storm. His ceremonies did not calm the earth’s fury. Komodo’s god’s were failing him. 

Komodo could do nothing more than help to shepherd the wolves towards a safe place and using his presence to keep them calm. He felt utterly useless and hollow — ineffective in both leadership and spiritually. The man was not worthy of love just as he was not worthy of these wolves’ trust. See? He couldn’t even keep them safe from a storm; from God’s fury. In the end, the raging of the storm reflected the raging that went on within his breast. Silent and brooding, Komodo took up post on the outskirt of the entire group of seawolves, seceding the safer and drier locations to those more young and fragile. Listening to the howl of the winds, the man questioned everything.
The boy had been fighting against the coursing winds as best he could and struggled against it, using the trees to brace himself wherever necessary, but still too agile in build and long in body to be effective. More than once he felt the sweeping danger of a loose branch whip overhead, ducking just in time or turning, weaving between through the tumult. He was nowhere near the rest of the pack; they took shelter beneath a great old tree, and yet here was Titmouse, pressed against the rocky shore along one part of the isle and trying to fight the weather. He found a gap in the earth - a small crevice, big enough for himself if he curled up enough - and hurried to press himself in to it.
To Lucas, the tree was just a tree, and Undersea was just a pack of wolves on an island that was currently being buffeted by the worst storm he'd ever borne witness to. Like his comrades, he had sought safety beneath the boughs of the groaning spruce, but he could no more read the expressions on his pack mates' faces than understand the spirituality of the tree itself. He could sense that in a way they were sort of communicating amongst one another with looks, but he wasn't privy to it. He was too new. So he listened to the wind howling instead and let his eyes flicker curiously across every face in attendance—he was pleasantly surprised to see Thresher among them—whilst waiting for some direction.

But it seemed at least for now there was no direction to be had as every member of the pack huddled for safety beneath the colossal tree. This was merely about weathering the storm, and at length, he settled his chubby body down into a curled up ball and quietly watched his companions over the fluff of his white tail.
It is with a great deal of relief that the Overseer watches Coelacanth heed his call and return to the rest of her flock nestled underneath the great spruce – he didn’t relish the idea of having to march back out there in the wind and drag her over here by the scruff. Probably would embarrass the heck out of the kids, too.

He touches his nose to her shoulder as she returns to the shelter of the overhanging branches and lets her pass by to do her rounds and count her seawolves while he remains at his post towards the edge of the tree’s canopy. There are, after all, several members of the pack who are not present; and while he hopes it is because they have taken shelter somewhere else on the island he still feels compelled to stand watch in case of them should appear in the distance struggling against the winds and needing assistance.
There were not many things that Sixgill outright disliked – but he could say this with absolute certainty; he hated whatever this was. The wind was sharp and loud and the way the waves crashed against the shore made him nervous. The promise of cold rain was on the horizon, and quite frankly rain in general wasn’t that great, let alone cold rain driven by howling winds.

He didn’t pace, but he shuffled uncertainly from one spot to another from time to time with his tail tucked against his hocks and his ears flat to the side like airplane wings – torn between lingering with his siblings or moving closer to his father who was awaiting Seelie’s return from the shoreline to their little temporary shelter beneath the great spruce. And it is only once his mother joins them that he begins to settle, laying down among his littermates with a soft, concerned huff.