Wheeling Gull Isle I pray for the wicked on the weekend

Despite Hemlock’s tight eye, Droman was adept at sneaking away during the night to watch the waves. Normally, he made it back before his absence could be noticed (as far as he knew, at least, but he wasn’t particularly vigilant). Something this time had managed to keep him out a bit longer than he had planned; he hadn’t even noticed the sunrise. 

Down the coast was another wolf who Droman had a vague remembrance of, but one that gave him the courage to approach. There was a new, shiny seashell in his mouth that he decided he would bring as a gift. That was sort of his thing now, giving gifts to his packmates. 

Hi missus, he called through clenched teeth as he made his approach.