Wheeling Gull Isle i'm merely contemplating what you feel inside

Komodo, since rejoining the band of seawolves and claiming the island for their own once more, had become prone to laziness. If he was not filling the caches or walking the border, he was likely napping in the cave or chatting with one of his cohorts. The man's piety and the sheer amount of time he devoted to the shamanistic arts waxed and waned, as did his energy, but he did not overthink it and he always returned to his priorities of reclaiming the island and then sleeping upon it.

The brute had been drawn to the edge of the island for one reason: a commotion that he felt almost as a sixth sense. For several moments, he watched the scene coalesce from afar — family reuniting, something he personally had never known — before approaching the group with heavy and lackadaisical strides. The earthstalker dipped his maw in greetings, but did not cede his posture, or the authority he believed he was owed [after Coelacanth, of course]. 

Now closer, he assessed the small group of rangers that had amassed upon their beach — a man, a young girl, and a pregnant woman. Catori he knew, had known for almost as long as he had known Coelacanth, but never had the chance to know her well. The man he recognized from the hunter’s moon festivities, but the young girl was unknown. He cleared his throat.  “Ah’m Komodo,”   he introduced to those who did not know him, but did not deign to steal the spotlight from the small family, who clearly had news to share.