Wheeling Gull Isle resist

Coelacanth heard Moorhen’s response — “Okay,” — but she didn’t really process it until the girl continued talking. The whisking of that bottlebrush tail was to Seelie the sign she needed to that she’d been forgiven, and her own feathered plume began waving eagerly in response.

The little Groenendael misinterpreted her lamb’s question, believing that she was searching for a general sleeping place, and tilted her head in a birdlike manner as she considered how to reply. It seemed Moorhen would get her way in the end, though; since technically the seawolves slept wherever they wished, Seelie led the girl further inland to her own favorite place, moving westward. She and Stockholm preferred a wedge of the territory where forest, beach, and singing water met in an idyllic slice of paradise. Nodding toward the sleeping form of the Gampr, “My Stockholm,” she whispered proudly. She hoped that the banded female would come to love the Overseer in time, and nuzzled at the bearlike figure with a soft bump of her quivering nose.

She stretched out beside Stockholm, her back to him, and patted the ground beside her flank with an inviting paw. If Moorhen allowed it, Seelie would be happy to cuddle the girl to sleep.