Wheeling Gull Isle become the light in the sky

With her muzzle laid daintily across Stockholm’s withers, the atramentous sheepdog watched the shooting stars dance across the evening sky. They reflected in her bright cerulean eyes as they did on the water, and though nobody would be able to tell except the Gampr who so indulged her, it was her voice that first rose in song. She threw back her tiny head and “howled” — a sweet, prolonged sigh that wished ardently for the wherewithal to undulate and dance in a series of aural acrobatics. At first, her golden-eyed guardian merely regarded her with fond amusement; but at an insistent butting of her nose against his heavily-muscled shoulder he cleared his throat and added his own voice to the call. She flopped over onto her side, puppyish in her contentment, and shoved at him with all four of her paws, kneading like a kitten as other voices took up the cry.

It was impossible to tell who joined in and who didn’t, but it was a unified chorus that struck the air time and again — one wolf would start from somewhere, and the rest would call back, knitting together their voices despite the shakiness of their present hierarchy.

posted by coelacanth.