Wheeling Gull Isle tripping on skies, sipping waterfalls

The scents and sights around the water's edge were spectacular to Faeryn's senses - the taste of salt hung in the air but she had grown used to it. It was something now that she found undeniably pleasant, reminding her only of familiarity. Perhaps it was strange how quickly she had adapted to life near the sea with those rolling waves of blue, but she remembered no other residence so this was what she thought of at the mention of home.

Her bright, cerulean gaze wandered to Seelie as she treaded further into the low tide, and the blue seawolf found herself encaptured by the movements of the water as it rippled around each wolf's paws. She had greatly missed the island, yearned for the safety it had provided and the idea of home it perhaps would always remain to her. Faeryn was comitted to these wolves and the island they had resided upon, and she was certain she always would be. She may have no memories of her life before the Teekon, but she had found her place.

The wintry fae was silent as she followed, eyes drifting briefly to the other wolves around. Some had been from Undersea previously, but others she did not quite recognise. They all seemed relatively content with either talking between themselves or remaining quiet as she did, so she decided not to bother them with speech of her own. Instead she continued onward, a svelte woman elegant in every step she made into the cold waters.

When at last they reached the shore, Faeryn allowed a small sigh of relief to slip from her blackened lips. Ah, indeed it felt like home.