Wheeling Gull Isle bermuda, bahama; come on, pretty mama

@Stockholm ♥ This post got away from me.

It was easier for the atramentous sheepdog to lose herself when evening fell, and tonight was no different. She tiptoed to the water’s edge with her nose aquiver, her movements timorous and cagey as though the gently lapping waves held within their depths a beast of nightmares. Suddenly distracted, she tilted her head to glance suspiciously at the night sky, her Neptune eyes tracing the edge of the moon’s grin. It filled her with relief to be able to look at the sky unobstructed, her catlike paws executing a slow, prolonged series of pirouettes like a music box ballerina, without the sinister canopy of a fang-infested ceiling.

The relief fled, however, when she glanced toward the dreaded mainland.

The sodden mass of cream-colored fur Coelacanth espied was unmistakably unfamiliar, and she barreled across the sand to meet it, slowing only when she could clearly discern the dark blaze that slashed evenly between his weary eyes and widened to swath his broad muzzle. When no immediate threat was offered, she crept forward on tenterhooks, the feathers of her sharply sloping breast attracting grains of sand that glinted silver in the moonlight. If she had met the wolf before, she did not recognize him — but, oh, she had been mad; mad! Her panicked flight to the coast had left her with fragments of memories that she recalled in fits and starts as frenetic as her steps.

A low, toneless whine fell like a sigh from her lips. She whuffed softly, tufted ears pricking alertly. She had found him, this great bear of a creature who seemed to defy her rudimentary sense of taxonomic classification. Although in some realm their ancestors may have worked in tandem or at least in parallel lines — his brethren guarding the livestock while her slimmer, more streamlined counterparts tended and drove them — Seelie had never met an Armenian Gampr or anything remotely resembling one. She had found him, and he belonged to her now, and she would let no wolf take him away. A nervous little growl ticked in her throat, frail as a kitten’s first purr, as she obsessively scanned her surroundings for usurpers, then settled back on the wanderer with a reptilian glint in her Neptune eyes.