Wheeling Gull Isle hike up your skirt a little more

The man has never been a seawolf, but had found that his feet had moved eagerly and with alacrity towards the coast. There was much to enjoy on this island with his merry band of wolves, much to look forward to, and no real reason to stay away. His thoughts, for the most part, had regarded the two undersea females of ink and alabaster; both of which had captured his attention in wildly different ways. Aria, the girl of his present and @Coelacanth, the girl from of his past and present — where were they? Had his faith in the men of the island kept them both safe during his wayfaring fugue, as they had promised to do, been misplace? The two women were of his real concern,  even though he would not openly admit it.

His work here, on Wheeling Gull Island, wasn’t done. 

Komodo’s call was answered, but not by a face he recognized. The dusky stranger padded towards him and the earthstalker dipped his head in a casual greeting; showing her that he was no threat. Surely the scent of Undersea had left his pelage now and [unless the original stormborn wolves had done a bang-up job telling of his legacies] there was little to tell her that they were of the same allegiance. Surely most of the wolves who risked themselves and crossed the sea or sandbar had a good reason to be there — either way, Komodo loosened his stature a bit to show that, indeed, there was no need to be frightened.

She was small and somewhat scrawny; Komodo was immediately pleased that Undersea had continued to be a haven for those needing help or — maybe — a new start. In his cool contralto, Komodo greeted with a deep and succinct “Hey” and waited to gauge her reaction. She seemed nervous.