Wheeling Gull Isle the story is in the soil, keep your ear to the ground

Tipping back his own head, Brontide howled along with the younger male, his own sonorous voice more politely sympathetic than truly sorrowful. He had not walked this island, had not known its inhabitants, and aside from wondering where his niece and nephew had wandered off to [he assumed, as everyone who knew them tended to, that @Amoxtli and Coelacanth were together], he wasn’t too concerned with the isle’s emptiness.

He was smart enough to avoid saying stupid things like, “Well, this is disappointing. What now?” but not empathetic or intuitive enough to know what to do for the Earthstalker’s obvious drop in mood. Brontide liked to keep things easy and simple. At a loss, he turned to his sisters with a low murmur of a whine. In a hushed undertone, “The little’uns wouldn’t need to move inland for the winter; they’re Cortens,” he mused, maybe a little loftily, “so they must’ve done it to keep the rest of the pack together.” He looked about, appreciating the prettiness of the place. “Shame,” he lamented. “It’s a pretty enough place.”