Wheeling Gull Isle resist

Moorhen followed right behind the Shadow, almost tripping on the older wolf's heels in her determination to keep close. Her chin bumped against the curve of the Shadow's spine when she stopped, and Moorhen realized she'd been led to another wolf - Szymon!

Her mouth hung open in silent shock, even when the burly male was introduced with a name that Moorhen did not recognize. Obviously, this was her blood uncle, with his white-sand pelt and black spine marking. It was different than Moorhen remembered, but then again, the Shadow never spoke in her memories, either. She shot an incredulous look toward her caretaker, but for fear of waking her uncle, kept her mouth shut.

Careful not to jar the pair too much, the dark girl laid down where the Shadow had indicated, folding her legs underneath her and draping her head over a dark flank. Her nose brushed against the dark fur of Szymon's back, and Moorhen gave a contented sigh at the familiar scent. Saltwater, just like she rememebered.