Whitefish River some sad singers, they just play tragic

The Armenian remains seated, even after Coelacanth disengages from the shewolf. He silently watches the exchange of Seelie retrieving the coconut and gesturing in invitation, and inclines his head slightly with a smile when she turns her attention to him, as if to make sure he too was going to follow. She needn’t worry – there isn’t a place on this earth that the Gampr wouldn’t follow her to.

He rises to his feet and gives his coat a shake before plucking the pumpkin up by the stem and falling in to step behind the inky sheepdog as she leads them to the river. He deposits the pumpkin in a safe place and glances towards Olive at the question. He would think it odd if he hadn’t already figured out that Seelie’s talking was a somewhat new event. But it makes sense, that if the silvery female had never heard the sheepdog speak before, then she wouldn’t know her name, or perhaps knew her by a different one. “Seelie – Coelacanth, her name.”

It has already been established that Stockholm sucks at fishing while Seelie is naturally adept at it, so he feels no guilt in dropping back to his haunches and letting her do her thing unless she has need to summon him. “I’m Stockholm, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.” Despite the odd circumstances. While he was still clueless to the details of it all, the two seem at peace with each other right now, and that is all that really matters.