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

Though he most likely would have responded to the summoning call out of curiosity even if he had not crossed paths with Coelacanth, his decision on whether to go or not was now inexplicably tied to hers. And since she goes, so does he. But when she slips from the underbrush to make her presence known he lingers back, waiting, carefully observing.

Scents and tell-tale tracks in the wet soil had let him know that he and the inky hybrid were not alone on this island, but he would not have guessed the wolves to number so many. It stirs in him a mild sense of unease at first, something held over from his youth, from his days patrolling the wide open pastures in the spring and summer when the wolves would come to the flock to try to take newborn lambs during times of scarcity. Though their blood flowed in his veins as equally as the blood of his domestic sire, it was the dog instinct in him that had been fostered by the humans and it was the blood of wolves that stained his lips more than once under the harsh summer moonlight during his first year of life in Armenia.

But that was a long time ago, and the more he watches and listens, the more the feeling fades into nothing more than cautious wariness he would extend to any stranger, wolf or dog.

He listens to their introductions, but in particular his focus lingers on Coelacanth and the individuals she seems to acknowledge. The male who had made the summoning call is obviously someone she is familiar with, as is the reddish agouti female with the brilliant green eyes, and the pale-grey young male who brought food for the young female accompanying the green eyed girl, the silent silvery white female, and the bold woman who seems to illicit the most obvious reaction from Seelie. Komodo, Cascada, King, Parthenos, and Ixchel. He does his best to commit their names to his memory as well as the others, though it's doubtful he'll remember them all from just this one instance, his social cognition is a little too rusty for that.

His gaze lingers on the bold one, Ixchel, both because of Coelacanth's reaction to her presence, but also because he likes her straight-to-the-point attitude. It reminds him of someone he knew once, a memory he can't quite fully grasp and bring into the light yet.

He doesn't have time to turn it over in his head though, as Coelacanth returns through the fragrant underbrush, calling to him with a soft wuff. His short cropped ears twitch forward and he cocks his head to the side as she dances before him in invitation -- and that is all he needs. He follows her without question as she returns to the distance she is comfortable with in regards to the group, standing by her side like a soldier at attention, statuesque and covered in the scars of war, his large frame dwarfing hers. He carries himself with confidence, posture not asserting any attempt at dominance but also lacking any language of passive submission with his thick tail curled upwards slightly and his head held high. For the moment, he does not offer up his name, as there is a more important subject on the table -- Ixchel's question of who would lead the gathered group of canines if they chose to stay.