Wheeling Gull Isle martinique, that montserrat mystique

@Constantine

Coelacanth’s second summer was peppered with triumphs and tribulations, and her outlook on them was dependent upon which of the two she was experiencing at the time. It was evening now, and the shoreline was dappled with a luminescent blue that matched her eyes. Above, a cool rain fell, sinking into her feathery fur and turning it to living ink. The break in the oppressive heat was pleasant, and she burbled happily to herself, practicing her elocution in a virtually inaudible current of lilting whispers. Komodo had been helping her with consonant sounds, but despite his rollicking drawl, Seelie’s burgeoning accent was already shaping up to be something wholly her own. She worked her tongue and teeth around the unfamiliar weight of the spoken word, and although she was excited and delighted by her newfound way of communicating, the idea of doing it in front of others was terrifying.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention — an ivory and alabaster ghost crab had poked its head out of its sandy burrow. `Ohiki, Kirynnae had called them, and now that she could, “`Ohiki!” parroted her granddaughter in a piping whisper, facing off against the little crustacean. It threw up its infinitesimal claws in alarm, looking strikingly like a vagrant who’d just been commanded, “Hands where I can see ‘em!”

Seelie bounded forward to investigate, and thus began a comedic flurry of movement. She chased the little crab in skittering pathways along the moonlit shore, sniffing overzealously at it whenever it stopped moving, and snapping harmlessly at the air above it when it put its claws in the air and waved them like it just didn’t care. When it moved toward her, she “squealed” — an airy yip! that was just a sharp blip of air — and spun, mock-fleeing in the other direction; but she whipped right back around every time to start the game over.

It was during one of these flighty retreats that a seagull swept down, snatching up her friend in its greedy beak. Fury pierced her tender heart like a lance, and she zipped around with desperate speed, her own jaws ripping wide to wreak her own vengeance. She launched herself into the air before the barrel-bellied bird could take to wing and snapped furiously. All three of them — bird, crab, and dog — crashed to the sand in a flurry, but fortunately it seemed that her hard-shelled little friend was no worse for wear. He threw up his claws and she spat feathers, following after him and leaving the bird with a clipped, bleeding wing to flounder in the soft sand. A solicitous whine trailed breathily from her lips.