Wheeling Gull Isle can't touch it with your two hands, can't find it with your third eye

Coelacanth might have missed Axolotl’s summons entirely if it was not for @Stockholm. At the precise moment the leviathan’s call struck the air, the diminutive sheepdog plunged her head below surface in pursuit of a fat, tender-fleshed fish for which she had no name. Her sharp little fangs hit their mark and dug in deep as she staggered back, soaking wet to the withers and dizzily triumphant. Her eyes squeezed shut as she allowed her body to move with the wild whipping of the flopping fish; and when at last it ceased its struggling, her Neptune gaze focused on the Gampr with a saucy glimmer of pride. Dropping into a playful bow, she begged him to take it from her — she shook her head, tufted ears flapping audibly, and shimmied back with her hindquarters arched in an exaggerated tilde and her forepaws tracing wriggly spaghetti noodles in the sand — but his golden eyes were solemn.

With the fish still in her mouth, Seelie straightened. She hadn’t heard the call, so she didn’t know which way to turn — and she huddled in the larger wolfdog’s reassuring shadow as he led her in the right direction. When they drew nearer, as had become custom, she took the lead, cutting neatly in front of him without excess rancor or rudeness. It felt natural for her to place herself between Stockholm and the others — she felt strongly that he belonged to her and could not have accepted sharing him the way she shared Komodo, Axolotl, or Ixchel. Too, she was better acquainted with the seawolves; she felt it was her responsibility to ease his way in whatever small way she could. Still, she moved with hesitation as she approached the throng, sidestepping so that her hip brushed faintly against the crest of his collarbone.

The tension in the air was thick and heavy, and Coelacanth paused to collect herself. Her initial instinct was to offer her submission to the two males, and to lay her kill at Cascada’s paws — but her feathered tail tucked with uncertainty as her tufted ears did a fluttering dance upon her gently sloping crown. With the fish still in her mouth, she looked a question at the Three, cerulean eyes unobtrusively meeting each pair of eyes — burnished fire, pleochroic sea glass, and sweet apple — with shy curiosity. Glancing sidelong at Maera and Faeryn, she tipped her head first to one side, then the other, asking without saying a word, “What’s this?”