Wheeling Gull Isle v.a.t.s or die

The difference between life in a canyon and one on the beachside was night and day, yet somehow it was still familiar to Gristle, for the wolves he found himself surrounded with were very much the same as the ones back at Red Canyon — loud, rowdy and violent. He relished it. The journey from there to here had been too quiet and uneventful, even with Wednesday by his side.

Already, he bore marks from his recent scrap with the wolves of the forest south of them. It was a miracle they escaped with their lives (minus one or two pieces missing), but Gristle thought nothing of it. He had simply cleaned himself up and went back to his simple existence.

Presently, the beast was actually making himself useful, having disposed of a large, squawking seabird, it's corpse now laying at his feet awaiting to be taken to the caches. However, he had been distracted by the nest it had been protecting, and now was reared onto his hind legs, leaning against a rocky outcropping that held the delicate treasure just behind a tangled brush. Only the sound of snorting and the soft crunching of egg shells could be heard from onlookers as Gristle devoured the hatchlings.

had to snag this because of the title! forgive any weird typos... this is 110% from my phone!

Loud was certainly how Roach would have put things. He couldn't help but ahy away from it initially, curious of how things would work out between himself and his newfound comrades. He was certain there has been a share of unions made and scuffles to bloom, but all of them also seemed to adhere to the rule of their Captain.

He wasn't sure how he was going to fit in when it came to the long run of things; he thought himself something scholarly, not at all prone to the way they slurred through their words and guttural calls. But he couldn't stay out of the limelight forever either, and thus the coywolf had set off to wander and wave with the tracks of another.

Another, who even from a distance he could tell bore marks of a battle waged somewhere, and if he had to bet he had at least won his life. The gulls overhead reined in the coywolf, though he made his presence noted early. "Ahoy!" he called, though saying such made him feel silly, inferior somehow. "Want a partner to catch some of these birds?"

With Goliath no longer a wolf to contend with, there were two others above her at least in rank. Wednesday still debated whether or not she would fight the other for his... or if she ought to delay and let herself heal. Her patience was hit or miss. She took things day by day to see how she felt... and though she was healing, she still certainly wasn't at her strongest or her sharpest.

The pale wolf tracked Gristle idly but stopped in her tracks upon seeing Roach. She hadn't the chance to meet him, but as she stared at him she likened him to a detestable creature. She had seen the same thing in the features of Blurryface, but then, there was enough uniqueness and ugliness in the other to blind her to the 'yote-like contours of his muzzle. This wolf screamed what was in his blood... but he bore the height and the girth of a wolf, which caused her to stare on in dumb confusion.

She looked to Gristle, to see what he made of it. If he attacked the creature, she'd suppose she was right. Otherwise she imagined it was her injury and the remnants of bloodloss that caused her delusions, and that would be that.