Wheeling Gull Isle Sirens call

The pack had grown in size indeed, but it had also grown quiet. There was little for Komodo to do — wild Coelacanth sightings were fleeting at best, Axolotl was no longer around to rabble rouse. There was no impending storm to elicit his ceremonies and the fish neither ran as they did in summer nor did the island’s fauna flourish and flutter. It was all simply quiet.

It was a nice change of pace after his recent bought of fugue wanderlust, but the Earthstalker was a man who grew bored of things and when he was bored, he had a tendency to move on. However, his dedication to Undersea, as it was, appeared to be unshakable. His place on this island was certainly divine intuited; and who was he to doubt the Gods, when they so clearly thrust his path before him?

But Komodo knew himself and knew his tendencies — knew this was something about him that could not [and would not] be changed. 

He occupied himself mostly by walking the shores of the island, both to survey the territory [and any would-be interlopers] and to fill his need of seawater therapy. The brackish water had grown on him, mostly from seeing how it nourished the others, and Komodo wanted some of that for himself. It was there that he heard the call, and he was not too far away. The man made quick time, but another Undersea wolf was quicker. He was young with a coat of mottled silver and charcoal, but Komodo did not find recognize his youthful face. It was no matter; and Komodo turned his attention to the stranger with striking eyes who shook nervously upon their lands

“That’s no way t’greet ah lady,” he burred, pulling up alongside the young man, but keeping a respectable difference. They did not know each other, but the pale girl did not need to be aware of that face. He dipped his chiseled head in a somewhat informal greeting. “What’s yer name?”

Komodo found himself, once more, in an enigma of leadership. There was a vacuum created when he left, the angakkuq knew, but Axolotl and Cascada has been there to cover his absence. They had left, it appeared, and Komodo knew enough to understand that Stockholm had stepped up to the plate. Komodo was pleased that the crop-eared brute felt responsibility enough to see Undersea through, but now the wayfarer had returned and he would not so easy cede his leadership potential. Perhaps a council could still be had.

“I’m Komodo,” he introduced, giving the girl a once-over and allowing a grin to break his exterior. “and this is…” Here Komodo left space for Ceallach to fill, using the inflection of his voice to pawn his unknowingness off as a simple transition of introductions.