Wheeling Gull Isle a tall ship and a star to steer her by

The young wolf heard the rustling sounds of other wolves pushing their way trhough the brush. Fearful and lonesome, she crept from her hiding spot - now flooded with murky water from the storm. Her steps were shaky, her pelage waterlogged and stuck to her frail bones. She opened her ivory maw to speak, but found her voice to be lost - her throat dry and tight. The flick of anothers creamy tail disappearing through the brush caught Calypso's attention. She stumbled forwards, attempting to call out, but all that came out was a whisper of a croak. Determined to be amongst others, she tracked the imprints left behind them in the mud.