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+--- Thread: Wheeling Gull Isle out by the ocean, feels right to me (/showthread.php?tid=32602)
out by the ocean, feels right to me - Six - January 31, 2019
aw, but please let Seelie post first. thanks!
Sixgill had been restless in the days following the departure of the traveling group that had included Koi. Logically, he knew this was very different from when Thresher had gone missing. But the apprehension still remained. Stockholm had even mentioned that perhaps they would have a ‘boys trip’ off the island in the future; just him, Grayling, and Six. And that sounded okay, Six supposed. But it didn’t really do anything for the vague unease he felt at once again being separated from one of his littermates.
Besides, he was quite content to stay on the island proper and not go anywhere. But Sixgill was very much a late bloomer compared to his siblings – he had been the last of the four to take to the water and enjoy it, and he had in fact still been somewhat uncomfortable with the sea when he had taken his first trip across the land-bridge to help search for Thresher. So it stood reason to believe that he would also be the last of them to experience the Corten wanderlust.
But like all things, he would probably get there in time.
Coelacanth and Stockholm’s third-born was currently elbow deep in the ocean though, water lapping at his underside when the mild waves would roll in, in search of the perfect rock. He had been searching for said perfect rock for awhile now, and the water was actually starting to make him feel a little chilled. But he was stubborn and determined as he swiped his paw through the sand in the shallows, golden eyes narrowed in speculative concentration as he waited for the sand to settle so he could see what he had unearthed.
Aha! There!
Sucking in a deep breath and pinning his ears back tight against his skull he dove his head underwater – a clumsy imitation of one of his mother’s fishing techniques – scooped up a mouthful of sand and the rock before resurfacing. He heaves a breath out his nostrils as he turns and wades back to the shore where he deposits his mouthful of ocean-floor then proceeds to spit and cough and paw at his muzzle cause man, sand sure does feel funny on your tongue.
Once he manages to scrape a reasonable amount of sand off his tongue with his paw he extracts the rock he had been working so hard to acquire and carries it over to the project that has kept him busy all afternoon – the puppy version of building sand castles; aka a bunch of holes and mounds in the sand that held no rhyme or reason except to him alone. Carefully he sets the rock down on top of one of the mounds that is also adorned with a few small sticks and a tattered seagull feather then steps back to survey his work with his head held high and his chest puffed out proudly even though no one else is around to see his masterpiece.