Wheeling Gull Isle how to call on old gods

The low, murmuring hum that trilled softly from Maera’s lips was met with an answering purr from the sheepdog, airy and toneless, like an errant breeze ruffling a bough of gilt-edged leaves. Axolotl and Maera had accepted her, and she basked in their welcome, a fraction of her anxiousness easing; her high-arched shoulders relaxed and her gamine, serpentine form smoothed out into a splay-legged stretch. She yawned, the last of the tension dissipating with the soft pop! of cartilage in her jaws, and shook out her atramentous fur.

Seelie’s Neptune eyes half-closed, arching like rainbows as she listened to their conversation with eager ears. Axolotl had not turned her away or spoken sternly to her — and she wanted to dance with the joy of it! Instead, though, she expressed her delight via a gentle, steady waving of her feathered tail and a low whuff of readiness and agreement to the note of goodwill she’d picked up in Maera’s tone. She would aid them with whatever they needed, if only they would let her stay close to them.

Together, the trio spent the afternoon marking and placing borders.