Wheeling Gull Isle ink stains on the counter, out there

Whether it was because of a lack of anything else to do, or perhaps sheer boredom, the woman had thrown herself into the sea, deep strokes bringing her after a time to the shores of this island. She had gone but a few steps before realizing that the sands were claimed; weakly, it seemed, for but a few distinct scents lay here. Her gaze muzzle twisted in a scowl; how was it that every interesting territory came to be claimed?

She paced the shore, hardly willing to swim back immediately. The shape of a small grey wolf had her pause, and she regarded the thing thoughtfully. Her ears flicked atop her head, waiting to be noticed or ignored, though the latter was unlikely.