Wheeling Gull Isle a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied

no posting order, i believe!

The dark male assumed the next opportunity to speak — that was a character trait that appealed greatly to the angakkuq — and as each introduction continued in a deliberate succession, Komodo worked to commit each name to memory and take inventory of their skills. Each wolf who spoke [or didn’t speak] elicited another nod in turn; as Komodo was a somewhat of a feral thing, he was not without a buoyant sense of politesse. 

Dakarai, hunter. Maera, here to help. Constantine, here for — Aria?

An incredulous eye notched up at this upset, casting a glance down to the wisp of a wolf who pressed herself hotly against his sturdy shoulders and flank. Almost immediately Komodo felt the possessive flame, the one that always flickered low in his belly, flare hotly into his chest. Who was this boy who called himself Constantine, entering so boldly onto the scene? What right did he had to her? 

Aria was his.

Of course, Komodo immediately recognized these all to be wild assumptions — and thus, the brute was able to keep his entire demeanor unmoving, unperturbed and cool. There was a certain inkblot that amassed from the shadowed inland forest and that sight alone was able to keep his blood pressure stable, but as Aria divulged her unknowingness, the dapple man made his posture to stand a little taller, tail held a little higher, gaze slightly more heavy-handed. His cut sharply toward the two; he remained strong by the pale woman’s side, and perhaps that was the only telltale sign of Komodo’s discomfort with the man, Constantine. 

Komodo was all too thankful for the conversation to move on. King, Parthenos, Cascada…

There were several others others who forfeited their introductions, and Komodo made mental note of this. It was likely that their psyches would need tending to just as much as their bodies did. Perhaps he would host them for a ritual; the island needed to be cleansed after all, if they were to truly start anew. Plus, he needed a do-over; Komodo hadn’t forgotten how his previous ceremony had failed.

“Right,” the man rumbled as the introductions concluded. No other had deigned to assume responsibility of this meeting, so Komodo continued with distinction. “Welcome, family.” he greeted succinctly— not realizing the other’s discomfort with the terminology. Not caring. With a brief clear of the throat, he continued. “Are any y’all familiar with this place? ‘ny good places to find prey?” He wasn’t necessarily a fan of sea fare — he had always been a man who enjoyed the spoils of the forest and the slight bloodsport of it all — so this aspect of the island interested him greatly. But next on the list was…

“A nice place to hunker down, fer those of ‘yuh thinkin’ bout stayin?”

Komodo recognized that not all wolves might not want to stay, that not all the wolves felt the sense of divine providence that he and Axolotl and Coelacanth felt — but the ones that did, they needed a place to be. A place to make into their home. “There’s a stream inland,” The man suggested in his roughhewn tone, tossing his angular chin towards the freshwater source that the atlanian had deftly located. Again, his gaze made orbit around the enclave of wolves, both young and old. “I don’t doubt some’yuh have found it 'lready.”