Sea Lion Shores i could see for miles, miles, miles

Kirynnae, a great lover of stories and a bard among the Corten wolves, had passed both of these traits on to four of her children: Kailani, Serein, Sirimiri, and Brontide.  Oxtli and Seelie had grown up surrounded by these grand storytellers and singers, and many of their childhood games had been based around the things they learned, both fictitious and factual.  When they, at their full height and weight, remained much smaller and more finely-drawn than their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, they remembered that intellect, heart, and agility often bested brawn and brute strength.  When they felt keenly the lack of verbal expression, they were told the story of the mute Trumpeter Swan who had found his voice through a manmade instrument.  And, from stories and songs, Coelacanth had come to know that dragons were impressive creatures that ranged in size from tiny and faelike to large and imperial; most possessed glittering scales and wings that ranged in texture from armor to parchment.
 
Had Coelacanth a voice, she would have nicknamed her brother Dragon for his tendency to fill whatever residence he currently inhabited with gems, baubles, and other such treasures — a thought that occurred to her anew this morning when she tripped over his latest acquisition and neatly caught herself with a skipping sidestep.  Dipping her nose to its polished surface, Coelacanth regarded the newest addition to Amoxtli’s hoard with appreciation.  Though she lacked the desire to squirrel away such treasures, she cherished being surrounded by such beautiful things.
 
Stretching languidly, she left the dragon’s lair at a sprightly trot, her inner compass pointing her unerringly in Amoxtli’s direction.  The bark of sea lions was a jarring but immediately comforting sound — she was enamored with the creatures and could not see them as prey despite the traditional hunting habits of most coastal wolves.  One of Kirynnae’s stories, a legend about the origin of the Corten wolves, had been based on the theory that they were distantly related to the finned-and-flippered beasts — the same way many humans were taught about their distant relation to primates.  Looking at the scene that unfolded before her, Coelacanth saw little physical resemblance between her fluffy dragon of a brother and the obviously unimpressed bull, but the delight she felt was akin to seeing an old friend.  Whuffing softly to announce her presence — a practically inaudible rush of sound despite her efforts — she bounded forward with an exuberant but harmless nip at Amoxtli’s ruddy flank, only to spring nimbly backward in surprise at the presence of a stranger.
 
The angle which Coelacanth had approached from had given her a clear view of Amoxtli but only now did she notice the incredibly tall male.  Wild raven-black fur cloaked his significantly larger frame — he was taller than Coelacanth by at least a foot — with startling splashes of white that covered all four legs and the center of his chest.  One torn ear and a scar that bisected his face like a masquerade mask bespoke of his previous battles; the accentuated leanness of his frame reflected the famine of the Teekon Wilds.  They were on neutral territory, and Coelacanth owed the strange wolf no allegiance, but caution bade her to avoid his gaze with studied decorum — but the amused rumble that thrummed pleasantly from his breast and the smile that shaped his muzzle as he watched Amoxtli interact with the sea lion comforted Coelacanth greatly.  Her feathered sheepdog’s tail wavered with tentative friendliness as she whuffed an airy greeting.  Her seablue eyes flicked to Amoxtli with unabashed pride: this is my brother.