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

Not far from the other wolves, but too far down the shore to see in this weather, King stumbled his own way further inland, eyes still shut tightly against the angry gale of the storm. His ears swivelled uncertainly toward the sound of voices, but he was a wolf that trusted his nose above all else, and for the time being, all he could smell was the salt of the sea. If there were wolves out there, they'd have to find their own way to shelter; at this point, he'd be lucky if he could save himself.

Eventually, the male stumbled into a small clearing between the trees, where the wind wasn't quite so harsh. He opened his eyes a crack and saw racing grass and shivering trees, and a few shallow divots in the ground, where he might find just enough shelter to keep himself from flying away while he rested.

Grateful for what little comfort he had, King curled up in his own little nest and shut his eyes once more. With any luck, the storm would be over when he awoke, and then he'd see where the sea had taken him.