Wheeling Gull Isle eastbound & down

Szymon’s presence on the island had driven a thorn between the sheepdog and her lamb. Seelie stowed her aversion with meticulous care and was consistently cordial toward the wolf who had, at one time, been her Leviathan — but the cool, closed off expression she wore around him was so out of character, she probably gave herself away. She couldn’t help feeling relieved that he was leaving the island, but even that brief respite was sundered by a feeling of panicky dread — Koi was going with them. Not even the Aralez’s rock-solid trust in Moorhen could assuage her.

She approached the shoreline with @Stockholm at her side and their children in tow. @Grayling and @Six wore matching expressions of comingled envy and concern — @Thresher’s disappearance had affected them all on a deep, visceral level — but when Koi’s face started to crumple dejectedly, they hastily changed their tune. Someday, they’d all have their own adventures — today just happened to be Koi’s turn.

When Coelacanth moved forward, Szymon backed up. It wasn’t kindness that drove him to give the two females space, but the ghost of a memory he couldn’t quite catch. Ves…Ves… She was dear to Doe, this small, odd, finely-drawn, stony-faced female — and she was the leader here. He wasn’t remembering a leader, though. He was remembering — flashes of light and color, two females — Doe and Deirdre — or Doe and Muses — or Doe and — “Ves,” he ventured aloud, and the sheepdog turned her sharp eyes on him but said nothing at all. He shuffled where he stood, and turned his eyes to the tiny girl, her tiny siblings. All of them wore telling tufts upon their oversized ears, and that was another incongruence. It made him remember that Seelie had a very large, very unimpressed looking mate. Without another word, Szymon turned to the surf and submerged himself, striking out for the mainland.

The goodbyes did not include him.

The prospect of being separated from her littermates — particularly her sister — was stressful and overwhelming, but Koi wanted to see Lucas’ old home. It was the banded male who scared her the most. When he spoke, she didn’t see any colors at all — she just felt cold and afraid and desperately lonely. Her oversized ears fluttered uneasily when he spoke to ŭmma. Though the word — “Ves,” — clearly held some significance for the Aralez, she didn’t speak of it. She merely crossed the distance to Moorhen after the waves swallowed his prints, her Neptune eyes filled with a deep and enduring tenderness, and murmured, “Peace be, lamb. Home safe. Love ever.”

I can stay, Koi thought, looking at the empty space where she ought to be standing — next to Thresher, Sixgill, and Grayling, tucked protectively between appa and ŭmma. Then she turned to regard Moorhen, Lucas, and Currituck, and made her choice. She loved her family, but the Corten wanderlust was already very much a part of her. She would go, and she wouldn’t lose her way. The island was her homing place, but she wanted to see the places that had so shaped Lucas and Currituck.

It was saying goodbye to her parents that brought tears to her seabright eyes. For as long as she could, she reached up and clung to Stockholm, grounding herself with the prickly touch of the vreccale rubbing reassuringly against her cheek. Once her farewells to Moorhen had concluded, Seelie completed the ring around her youngest daughter, nuzzling soothingly at her withers. “Good girl, Koi. Love ever,” the young mother murmured, the simple phrase serving as a gentle reminder as much as a fond overture of praise. Seelie, surprisingly, did not cry — the storm had instilled in her some kind of otherworldly, enduring strength that held steady even now.