Wheeling Gull Isle the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking

Others appear from in between the woodworks, but the angakkuq was focused on his task at hand — if the wolves that leeched from the forest as well as the sea seemed healthy enough to move around, then they were not in immediate danger and thus were not his priority. Instead, his auric gaze crawled across the sands [flashing with the dancing energy of their thrashing and suddenly illuminated world!] and his form thundered across the beach, back and forth and back and forth,  joining a pale woman as they checked bundles of seaweed for signs of life. 

The rain obscured all sight and even though he was in a heightened state, Komodo could not discern was debris thrust from the ocean depths and what were living things. The man feared they would come upon a body, life stolen by the fury of the gods, so it was with a small sense of apprehension that he nudged and shook the flotsam that dotted the shore — not for fear of the storm, but for the fear of death.

The brute turned his form to round the wretched shores once more when he saw something black deposited upon the stormweathered beach. He set upon the mysterious form almost immediately, somehow knowing exactly what it was. Komodo would not see if it was the girl nor could he smell if it was the girl but he knew and as he watched his pale consort tug at Coelacanth’s body he felt a strange bark/snarl/whine ripple from his jaws, locked together in utter consternation.  He came upon the scene with force, paws tightly gripping the ground, hovering over the crumpled form. Regardless of the other’s attempts to free the dog, Komodo laid his head against her deep ribcage, feeling rise-fall of the breaths that denoted life. It was there — as thin as rails — but it was there. 

Komodo looked up. ”It’s her,” his voice strained as he attempted to explain the gravity of the situation to the pale stranger, but knew his words were lost to the wind and meaning lost on a wolf who did not know how long he had prospected for the girl that now lay at his feet. He had found her, then he had lost her, but now he had found her again but her limpid body felt so small and so frail against his own. The relief efforts continued until Coelacanth, for the most part, was free. If she was able to, she could now move; and if she was not able to, Komodo would carry her. This was not a matter that was up for discussion.

They certainly could not stay on the beach — and certainly not with such precious cargo in tow. The angakkuq, who had just moments before resigned himself to surviving upon the whipping sands and awaiting the arrival of others, suddenly wanted nothing more than to find a place to lay Coelacanth and heal her every hurt. The smell of infection rose over the scent of brine and knew she was wounded, not only battered by the surf she loved so much. There were others who needed to be cleansed, but at that moment, he could think of no others. There was a call that offered harborage, but the thunderous roar of the squall distorted the howl and Komodo could not recognize it; thus, it could not be trusted. He could not believe in what he did not see, which is such a large part of his pious nature relied on trinkets and jewels that conveyed some sense of higher purpose. He needed to be grounded in something that was real.

So when Komodo managed to descry the sigh of Axolotl departing with his crew in tow,  Komodo decided that was real enough and the man decided they would follow. With urgency, he muscled his head against Coelacanth’s shoulders, hoping to rouse her, but his gentle touch gone  — displaced by an anxiou heavy hand. "Help me” he beseeched @Parthenos. If they could get the exhausted girl to stir, and if the two hale individuals braced her on both sides, they could possibly make it inland. 

"— please "