Stavanger Bay Den-mother Doe

Atoll grew impatient when her call was not answered. The smell of the girl was clear upon the den, and she had not run through a bee hive so that she could be ignored by a child. Flicking her tail in irritation, she moved a bit closer and peered into the darkness.

"Girl!" she called, more firmly this time. "Come out. You need to be healed."

A bit grumpy now, Atoll sat back and scratched at one of her stings, ears swivelling toward any sound that might mean her young patient was emerging from her brother's den. "Naibi," she said sharply, though the soft, low timbre of her voice detracted from the force of the summons. Atoll had a mother's voice - her mother's voice, at least - and had never learned to speak to children without at least a little kindness.