Wheeling Gull Isle resist

@Coelacanth <3

Sif emerged from the surf, shaking sparkling sands and glistening water droplets from her pelt. There was a smattering of frost on the reedy grasses further up the beach, glowing in the light of the waning crescent moon. The whole place felt eerie and strange - like something out of a fairytale that Sif wasn't meant to be in. But the strange, familiar scent was even stronger upon the island, and Sif picked her way from the surf up a hill of gritty sand.

"Home?" she called out in a querying howl, uncomfortable with the number of other scents upon the island. Who lived here? Were they friendly?

The faithful shepherd combed the buttersoft stretch of beach to the southwest with particular interest, having found several overripe coconuts for the taking over the past two weeks. She surmised that they must have washed up from the coconut grove on the Teekon Wilds’ western shore, and hoped they might make good gifts for Undersea’s new[ish] neighbors. The packs now inhabiting Ravensblood Forest and Stavanger Bay were new to the tiny Groenendael, and it was sometimes difficult for her to recalibrate her outdated mental map with the new names in place.

Coelacanth found herself particularly grateful for @Faeryn and @Stockholm, whose communication skills would prove instrumental in the months to come. She hoped to maintain a peaceful relationship with Doe and Szymon’s kin, and perhaps to see the tiger shark and the barracuda all grown up someday. She had let go of her petulant frustration with the Cairn children and hoped that wherever they were, they were as hale and hearty as the scrappy little witch doctor and her black-banded mate would have liked them to be. She wondered where Akantha had gone, the fierce, Amazonian siren who had spirited Julep away, and made a mental note to journey to the northeastern coast and scope out the sirens’ former haunts. There was so much she didn’t know!

A brief, questioning howl cut into the busy whir of the Groenendael’s thoughts. Oversized ears pricked sharply and she quickened her pace from an amble to a businesslike trot. Instinctively she howled back, but nobody would have been able to hear it — it was just a long, soft sigh.

At first, she did not recognize the girl who lingered uneasily in the sand. Finely tapered muzzle lifted as she tasted the air, but she did not muscle forward or tout her ownership of the place. It was simply not her way. Neptune eyes were alert and curious, and her hackles prickled with wariness, but she was not a dominant creature and did not harbor a Napoleon complex despite her diminutive stature. She “boofed” softly, her feathered tail fluttering in a display of shy friendliness.

The further she roved up the beach, the more her nares cleared. There was a pack here; their scents grew stronger further inland, and Sif looked over her shoulder to see that she'd come only a few dozen yards from the sparkling shore. Her legs were already tiring.

When she turned to continue onward, another wolf had appeared. One that struck an odd, long-forgotten chord within the dark bay girl. "Shadow," she said to herself, voice barely above a whisper. And indeed, the figure up ahead was completely pitch, with only the blue of her eyes breaking the monotony of her pelt. A tiny shiver ripped down Sif's spine, and she blinked once - hard - before realizing just who she was looking at.

"Shadow!" she said again, releasing a breathy whine. Her ears flew back against her skull, and she stumbled two steps forward, feeling large and ungainly before her dark protector. When had she grown so tall? The last time she'd seen the Shadow, the wolfdog had towered over her. "It me," she pleaded. "I eim your Moorhen."

“Shadow!”

Tufted ears “blinked” to attention atop the little Groenendael’s velveteen crown, drawn taut and tall at that heartbreakingly familiar cry. She started forward, closing the distance, seeming to shrink the nearer she drew to her precious — and surprisingly tall! — seashell. Once, “Shadow” had been Doe’s name for her — and although repeating nicknames had been deemed a cardinal sin in most situations [e.g. Szymon and Dakarai trying to piggyback on their wives’ ingenuity], hearing it from Moorhen’s mouth now was comforting. It reminded Coelacanth that somewhere in the world were two other guppies — a barracuda and a tiger shark, by now! — who knew her as Doe’s Shadow.

“It’s me. I eim your Moorhen.”

Moorhen had never been an effusive speaker, and Coelacanth was floored to hear her talking in full sentences. Without hesitation, she drew nearer to the girl who had once been so little, her Neptune eyes bright with happy tears. A soft, crooning whine danced from her smiling lips and was lost in Moorhen’s dark fur; without asking permission she made to look over the puppy who had so often become a seashell, finding the telltale Cairn branding infinitely comforting. Yes, this was Skellige’s daughter. In those markings she saw Szymon, Skellige, and Julep, and she remembered Doe. She only wished that Moorhen was a little shorter so that she could bathe the salt and sand from her pretty face. It was time, Seelie decided, to try out her own voice:

“M-My,” she breathed hesitantly, shyly, “Moor — Moorhen.”

The dark girl remained frozen in place as her caretaker rushed toward her, heart pounding almost painfully fast. There was a stitch in her chest she'd forgotten until that moment - You left me! she wanted to cry, but the reunion was too sweet, and the Shadow was looking at her with such love in her eyes. And - and she talked. Her name. Had she been able to all this time? Were Moorhen's memories faulty?

"Shadow," Moorhen whined, lurching into frenzied motion. She did her best to crawl underneath the smaller creature, craving a safe place and reprieve from the hurt in her chest. Hurt that left her gasping, cheeks flushed and breaths short.

Coelacanth did her best to accommodate for her lamb’s taller, sturdier stature; while Moorhen lurched forward and attempted to burrow under her, Seelie did her best to stretch herself to her full height. She was able at least to groom the banded female from this vantage point, draping one spindly forelimb over the girl’s wildly jerking, heaving shoulders as she smoothed the fur atop her crown. “Shh,” she whispered as soothingly as she could, a low, rhythmic purring humming tunelessly in her throat. Though she had always loved Moorhen, Julep, and Isengrim, her mannerisms this time around felt different somehow. Maternal. She wondered what had distressed the seashell so!

Shadow fussed over the little girl who now dwarfed her in size and marveled at the passage of time. How tall and lovely Moorhen had become! Her own airy whines spilled against the girl’s nape; she was sorry and proud and sad and joyful and worried and relieved all at once.

The Shadow's ministrations were a soothing balm against a hurt that stretched far into her childhood. There had been times in her short life where she'd almost forgotten that day on the beach, Jule going one way and Doe's Shadow the other. There were days she did not remember the conflict in her heart, which had only increased when she'd felt the nudge of the Shadow's dark muzzle against her rump, urging her away.

Moorhen could not recall all the specifics of that day. Not for her life. But the hurt could not be forgotten, and in that moment, it writhed like a pit of vipers in her chest.

"I can stay?" she asked the Shadow, unsure she'd be allowed. You sent me away, said her eyes, searing red searching cooling blue.

Had Coelacanth been able to see the parallels between herself and her mother, she would have been horrified — but she, like Selkie, saw in her previous actions a singular desire to provide a better life for the girl she’d driven away. She could not understand the accusation and the confusion in Moorhen’s fiery mahogany eyes, but she had a naturally guilty conscience. “I’m sorry,” bespoke the nervous way she licked at her lips, the submissive pinning of her tufted ears, the flurried whisk of her feathered tail. A firm nod answered Moorhen’s question, but Seelie tried her best to answer verbally as well, hoping that her efforts would appease the lamb. With a soft whine stirring in her throat, “Moorhen stay,” she whispered, finding it easy to find the word so recently uttered.

“P-Please stay,” she added, just in case it wasn’t clear the first time.

This was all she needed to hear. Although the hurt might remain a while longer, Doe's Shadow was forgiven. They'd found each other again, and Moorhen was going to stick to her like glue. "Okay," she said, voice matter-of-fact. She spared a fretful thought for Poet, but what could be done? She could not go back to the valley, and she was not sure that Poet would leave.

But those were thoughts for another time.

"Sleepy," she said to the Shadow, tail whisking sheepishly. "Where to... um..." She trailed off, not sure what to ask. What she wanted was for the Shadow to show her where she slept, and then they could curl up together and Moorhen was obviously never going to give her another moment alone. Just in case. But it seemed crass to say this, and in any case, that was too many words for Moorhen's tired, frazzled mind to come up with.

Coelacanth heard Moorhen’s response — “Okay,” — but she didn’t really process it until the girl continued talking. The whisking of that bottlebrush tail was to Seelie the sign she needed to that she’d been forgiven, and her own feathered plume began waving eagerly in response.

The little Groenendael misinterpreted her lamb’s question, believing that she was searching for a general sleeping place, and tilted her head in a birdlike manner as she considered how to reply. It seemed Moorhen would get her way in the end, though; since technically the seawolves slept wherever they wished, Seelie led the girl further inland to her own favorite place, moving westward. She and Stockholm preferred a wedge of the territory where forest, beach, and singing water met in an idyllic slice of paradise. Nodding toward the sleeping form of the Gampr, “My Stockholm,” she whispered proudly. She hoped that the banded female would come to love the Overseer in time, and nuzzled at the bearlike figure with a soft bump of her quivering nose.

She stretched out beside Stockholm, her back to him, and patted the ground beside her flank with an inviting paw. If Moorhen allowed it, Seelie would be happy to cuddle the girl to sleep.

Moorhen followed right behind the Shadow, almost tripping on the older wolf's heels in her determination to keep close. Her chin bumped against the curve of the Shadow's spine when she stopped, and Moorhen realized she'd been led to another wolf - Szymon!

Her mouth hung open in silent shock, even when the burly male was introduced with a name that Moorhen did not recognize. Obviously, this was her blood uncle, with his white-sand pelt and black spine marking. It was different than Moorhen remembered, but then again, the Shadow never spoke in her memories, either. She shot an incredulous look toward her caretaker, but for fear of waking her uncle, kept her mouth shut.

Careful not to jar the pair too much, the dark girl laid down where the Shadow had indicated, folding her legs underneath her and draping her head over a dark flank. Her nose brushed against the dark fur of Szymon's back, and Moorhen gave a contented sigh at the familiar scent. Saltwater, just like she rememebered.